


kintsugi

by goldenthunderstorms



Series: Kintsugi [1]
Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because it's what he deserves, Child Abuse, Coming Out, Eleanor Montague's C+ Parenting, Eleanor finally divorces her trash husband, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Felicity is doing her best, Fluff and Angst, Henry Montague Sr.'s A+ Parenting, I Did Less Legal Research, I Did Some Medical Research, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I Wrote This While Listening to Hozier's Music, I gave him a mom!!!!, I just REALLY want Monty to experiment with painted nails and makeup, I tried to write modern british people and hated it, I use the same jokes in all my fics, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Montamom is here!!, Monty gets a cat, Monty gettin the therapy he deserves, POV Alternating, Percy is doing his best, Photographer Monty, Pre-Relationship, Therapy, We explorin Monty's relationship with his parents, and we love her, because i forgot about him for most of this, but not until later, definitely more Monty though, for most of it, he's kind of allowed to be, no goblin, spoiler: he's kind of a jerk to her, the feelings are definitely THERE though, the original characters are Percy's parents, they're American I'm sorry, they're just kids they're trying so hard, you can't tell me that he wouldn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenthunderstorms/pseuds/goldenthunderstorms
Summary: Kintsugi (noun): the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum, a method similar to the maki-e technique. As a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.Monty is hospitalized after an especially bad incident with his father and loses hearing in one ear. He feels like his whole life has been uprooted and turned on its head. Percy feels guilty and just wants to be there for the boy he loves. The Montague family is struggling to find their places with Henry Sr. out of the picture and Monty is struggling to figure out himself.
Relationships: Felicity Montague & Henry "Monty" Montague, Henry "Monty" Montague & Percy Newton, Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Series: Kintsugi [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700524
Comments: 39
Kudos: 75





	1. part one: hitting the ground

**percy**

**Percy: Monty?**

**Percy: Monty, are you okay?**

**Percy: I’m sorry**

**Percy: Please let me know if you’re okay**

**Percy: Monty?**

**Percy: Hello?**

**Percy: Please text me back**

**Percy: I’m really sorry**

Text after text and no answer. I’m getting worried. Not that I wasn’t already worried. I can’t get Mr. Montague’s shouting out of my head. I can’t believe that Monty has to hear that every day. I hope that Monty isn’t still being shouted at, but every second of silence makes it seem less likely.

I was stupid to kiss Monty. Monty was stupid to kiss back. We were both so, so stupid. Now Monty is suffering for it.

I’m slowly getting desperate. I want to know how Monty is. _Please let him be okay._

I startle when my phone rings. I practically dive for it. It’s Felicity.

“Hello?” I answer immediately.

“Percy, I’m so glad you answered,” Felicity says, sighing.

“What? Why? What happened?” I ask. My heart starts racing. “Is Monty—”

“This is about Monty. He’s on his way to the hospital, in an ambulance.”

All of the breath leaves my lungs. _This is all your fault_.

“Percy?” Felicity says.

“What happened? Can I see him?” _This is all your fault._

“I-not yet, obviously,” she says. “He’s still on the way there with our mom.”

“Where is your dad?” I can’t help but ask.

“Listen,” Felicity says, “I’m following the ambulance in my car but I probably won’t be allowed to stay with Monty and Mom the whole time. We’re almost to the hospital. Once we get there and get Monty settled, I’ll meet you at the Starbucks down the street and tell you everything, okay?”

“Okay,” I reply, already rushing to put on my shoes. Before I can ask anything else, Felicity hangs up.

Thirty minutes later, I’m sitting in a Starbucks in front of a coffee gone long cold. A barista comes by and sets a mug of earl gray tea on the table. I ordered it for Felicity when she texted to say she was on her way.

“Oh, sorry, did you call—” I start.

“No,” the barista says, “but you look like you’re having a rough day.”

I almost want to laugh at that statement. Instead, I say a quiet thank you and the barista walks away.

A bell above the door jingles and Felicity walks in, pale cheeks flushed from the heat outside and auburn hair in a very messy braid.

“Hey,” she says as she sits down, sounding a little breathless.

“Hi,” I reply. “I got you something to drink if you want it.” I know I’m too nervous to drink anything. _This is all your fault._

Felicity looks taken aback. “Oh, thank you.” She tentatively takes a sip from the mug, looks surprised again, then takes a proper drink. “How did you know what I usually get?” she asks after setting down the mug.

“Monty’s mentioned it before.”

Felicity smiles a little. “God, I didn’t realize I liked him so much until I thought I was going to lose him.”

“ _What?_ ” I say, a little too loudly.

Felicity’s eyes widen. “No, no, Monty isn’t dying!” she rushes out. “Let me explain what happened.”

“Please.”

“So–” Felicity takes a large sip of her tea like she needs the liquid courage–“after our dad saw you and Monty, he went ballistic. He was shouting so loud that we could hear him anywhere in the house. It went on for a while. Then he-he wasn’t shouting so much. Then he left Monty’s room and that was it. When Mom called Monty down for dinner and he didn’t answer, she went to check on him . . .”

I go cold. _This is all your fault_.

“And he– he was laying there, on the floor, _bleeding._ He wasn’t conscious. He wouldn’t wake up but he was breathing. So she called 911 and told them what she knew. The ambulance came and some police came to deal with– with our dad.”

I’m speechless. I think I might cry. _This is all your fault._

“The paramedics weren’t really sure what kind of damage was done. Monty was bleeding from his ear which is obviously not normal . . .” Felicity speaks haltingly like each word is an effort.

“Oh my god,” is all I can manage.

Felicity nods.

“What about—” I start, then stop to clear my throat. “What about your dad?”

Felicity grimaces. “When our mom called 911 for Monty, they also sent officers. They arrested him. I’m not really sure what happens now.”

“Do you think . . . maybe this could be the last straw? Maybe after this, Monty won’t have to deal with your father anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Felicity admits. “If Monty really wanted to, he could leave anyway. He is legally an adult.”

“Felicity—”

“I know it’s not that simple.” She cuts me off. “I know. But practically, Monty could recover from this and walk away.”

I don’t say anything. Monty hasn’t told me a lot about how he feels about that and I don’t want to say anything to Felicity that isn’t true. But I know that Monty feels like he wouldn’t make it on his own. He feels dependent on his father. I’m not even sure if Monty realizes he’s being abused—in more ways than one—or if he’s just _used to it_.

I very lightly hinted at it once: the two of us getting an apartment or something after graduation, Monty making a life for himself. Monty brushed it off.

“C’mon Perce, why would I get a job when I can stay here and let the old man write me off in his taxes?” he had said. Then, he changed the subject.

Now, the summer before college starts, I wish Monty had considered the offer a little bit more.

“Hey, baby, where’ve you been?” my mom asks as I walk into the house. She’s sitting on the couch, her eyes still on the TV. 

Felicity and I talked for a while longer before she went back to the hospital and promised to text me updates. I’m not sure how much to tell Mama. I love my mom. She’s always been loving and supportive, especially when I came out. She knows about my feelings for Monty, too. But what’s happening is Monty’s family’s business and Mama likes to stay out of that.

When we were in middle school, I begged her to do something about Monty’s father. But Mama said that it wasn’t our business. She felt bad for Monty but wasn’t going to get into his family business when we didn’t know the whole story. I wonder what would have happened if I had pushed more, ignored Monty’s pleas not to say anything, spoken up louder. Maybe this could have been avoided. Maybe _years_ of abuse could have been avoided. Sometimes, I resent Mama, and myself, for not saying something sooner.

I know what Mama would say. “Percy, it’s not your job to look out for Monty.” But I want to know who will. Who’s watching out for Monty if I’m not? It’s certainly not Monty’s parents. 

But I’m almost incapable of lying to my own, so I say, “Starbucks, with Felicity.”

“Oh? Why?” she asks, but I don’t miss the small smile that Mama gives me over her coffee mug. She always liked Felicity.

I sigh. “Monty’s in the hospital.”

She almost drops her mug. It clatters as she sets it down on the side table. “What?”

I nod.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I nod again.

Mama pats the spot next to her and I sit, leaning on her like a little kid. She wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“Tell me what happened?”

I want to be discreet. This is my mother after all. But it all comes rushing out of me anyway. “I was at Monty’s house earlier today. We were just sitting in the basement, playing video games. Monty beat me in a round and he was bragging and I don’t know what I was thinking I just . . . kissed him.” _This is all your fault._

“Oh, Percy,” she says, slightly pitying, slightly disappointed. Ever since I was young enough to crush on people, Mama drilled the message of _consent is key_ into my head.

“I know,” I say. “That’s not even the worst part.”

“Obviously.”

“I mean, Monty kissed back. He was into it. But we didn’t really have time to dissect it because his dad came downstairs and started screaming at us. Mostly Monty, but he told me to get out of his house and never come back.”

“I hate that man,” Mama mutters.

“I kept texting Monty once I got home and he didn’t answer. Later, Felicity called me on her way to the hospital and told me that Monty was being hospitalized and once he got settled in, we met at a Starbucks so she could explain what happened.”

Mama rubs my shoulder. “Well? How is he?”

I shrug. “Felicity said she would text me with updates.”

Mama kisses my temple. “I’m really sorry, hon. Are you going to go see him?” she asks.

“If I can.”

She nods.

After a silence, I ask, “Mama, what if—”

“Don’t finish that thought.”

“What?”

“Don’t finish that thought. Wondering what if isn't going to help anything.”

“I just feel like this could’ve been stopped,” I say. _This is all your fault._

I can’t sleep at all that night. I’m too stressed. I start cleaning the kitchen, rearranging the cabinets at 11:30.

Mama walks out of her room, bleary-eyed. “Percy Monroe Lewis-Newton, what in _God’s_ name are you doing in my kitchen?” she asks. She doesn’t like to be woken up.

“Sorry, Mama,” I say, putting another stack of pans back into the cabinet. “Can’t sleep.”

“So you’re reorganizing my pantry?” she asks, leaning against the doorway.

I shrug. “Stress cleaning.”

Mama sighs. “Percy, honey, you know I love you. But it’s times like these I wish you lived with your dad.”

“Harsh, Mama.”

My parents aren’t together. They never were. They hooked up after a college party and had me. My mom told my dad so he would know he had a son and my dad insisted that he would help raise me so my parents sort of played tag-team with me for most of my life. They both live in town, so things are pretty easy. As a kid, I lived with my mom and spent weekends and breaks with my dad, but my parents are good friends so they did all the important stuff like holidays and school recitals together for me. Now, I’m living with Mama until I start college and move into the dorms, but I still see my dad a lot.

“Sorry, baby,” my mom says, coming to my side, putting an arm around my shoulders, and kissing my temple. She has to stand on her toes to do it. Mama used to complain about me getting all my height from my dad and not ending up short like her. “I appreciate you cleaning up like this. But why? And why this late at night?”

“Too stressed to sleep,” I say.

She frowns. “Have you heard from Felicity?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. I’ve texted her a few times, but now she might be asleep so I haven’t.”

“You should get some sleep too, you know.”

“I would if I could.”

“I know, honey.” She squeezes my shoulders. “Tell you what, how about we make cookies?”

“I thought you wanted to go back to sleep.”

“Well, I’m awake now.”

At two in the morning, I’m full of cookies and Mama is passed out next to me on the couch. I’m dozing but I’m never able to really fall asleep.

I’m jolted awake when my phone vibrates. I snatch it off the side table. It’s Felicity.

**Felicity: You’re probably asleep but wanted to update you**

**Felicity: He’s awake. Minor head trauma, hearing loss in one ear. They’re not sure if it’s permanent or not, keeping him a few days**

I text her back immediately.

**Percy: Shit**

**Felicity: Yeah**

**Felicity: Sorry, did I wake you?**

**Percy: No, I haven’t been able to sleep.**

**Percy: How is he? Can I come see him tomorrow?**

Her typing dots don’t appear for a few moments and it makes me nervous.

**Felicity: Not sure. He isn’t really talking to anyone except to answer the doctors’ questions.**

**Felicity: I’ll ask him if he’s up to seeing you in the morning**

That makes me a little less nervous, but still. I know how Monty gets when he’s like this. It makes sense that he isn’t talking much. But he’ll talk to me, right? He always talks to me. Then again, it’s never been this bad. Monty has never been _hospitalized_ before. He probably should have been when he got expelled from boarding school—I’m pretty sure his ribs were broken. Still, this is different.

**Percy: Okay**

I wake up still on the couch with a blanket draped over me. I check the time on my phone. 11:23. Mama must be at work.

I text Felicity.

**Percy: How is he?**

I don’t get a response right away, so I force myself to get up and make coffee in the kitchen. There are a few peanut butter cookies left from last night, so I eat one for breakfast. I wonder how Monty is, if he’s eating shitty hospital food for breakfast. Whenever I had to go to the hospital because of my epilepsy and Monty was here, I would beg him to bring me food that was actually edible.

I sit at the table, sipping my coffee and checking my other texts. There are some from my dad.

**Dad: Josee told me about Monty**

**Dad: You okay?**

Of course, Mama already told him. Once, when I was in middle school, a kid in one of my classes said having separate parents must have been better because you didn’t have to deal with both when you did something. My parents aren’t like that, though. They told each other everything. If I did something on Monday, Dad would still give me hell about it when I went to his house for the weekend. I love them both, though.

**Percy: Not really**

**Percy: Felicity hasn’t answered me today.**

**Dad: If she doesn’t, do you want to get lunch with me after my class? Get you out of the house?**

My dad is a music professor. When I was younger, he was a freelance violinist while he went to school. He got his masters and started teaching classes at our local university. He was all I wanted to be when I was younger. He taught me how to play the violin and now, I’m going to get my music degree too. 

**Percy: Yes please**

My dad meets me at my favorite Italian place for lunch. He gives me a bone-crushing when he sees me.

“Hey, Dad,” I say. I didn’t realize how much I needed a hug like this until now. My dad still hugs me like I’m a little kid because he’s taller than me at 6’1. He’s where I get all my height from, and the rest of my features really. People say I look just like him, down to the height, the cheekbones, the freckles. The only difference is that my dad is very white with very red hair, and I’m very not-white with curly black hair.

“You holding up okay?” he asks me.

“I’ve been better,” I say as we sit.

He frowns. “I’m sorry, Perce. I know it must be hard.”

I nod. “I feel like it’s my fault.”

“Your fault? Why would it be your fault?”

I have to explain the whole situation again.

“But you know that it’s not your fault, right?”

I can only nod because I don’t know what else to say. After that, we don’t talk about it at all. We talk about anything else, to keep my mind off it, I think. But that’s impossible. I’m always thinking about Monty in one way or another.

In the middle of my lasagna, my phone buzzes and I pull it out.

**Felicity: He’s okay with seeing you**

I drop my fork. “I have to go,” I say.

“Did Felicity text you?”

I nod. “I need to go see him.”

Dad gives me a pitying smile. “Go ahead. Keep me updated, alright?”

“Okay,” I say, already standing and rushing out the door.

Felicity meets me in the waiting room. “Come on, he’s in a room upstairs.” She leads me to an elevator and presses a button for the seventh floor.

“How is he?” I ask, bouncing on my toes.

“He’s . . . he’s not very good. He still isn’t talking or eating much—though that might just be partially the hospital food. He still can’t hear out of his right ear and it kinda freaks him out. Our mom is meeting with some lawyers right now, about our dad.”

My eyes widen. “Is she divorcing him?”

“She plans to,” I say. “Plus, she’s pressing charges for what he did to Monty.”

“Can she do that? If Monty is a legal adult?”

Felicity shrugs. “Monty isn’t really in the right state to do much of anything, so she’s handling it.”

I nod, but it’s all a bit confusing. Was this some kind of last straw? Monty’s mom never really seemed to care about what her husband was doing. I don’t ask, though, because we make it to the seventh floor. Felicity leads me to a room with the door closed.

“I’ll stay out here.”

I nod and knock on the door. There’s no answer, but Felicity gestures for me to go in anyway. I do.

Monty is laying in a hospital bed, the side of his head bandaged. His face is pale. His face is bruised. His arms are bruised. His lip is split. His eyes are empty. It’s like he stares right through me.

“Monty?” I say, my voice shaking more than I’d like it to.

Monty blinks, then seems to really see me. “Percy,” he says, softly.

“Can I sit?” I ask, pointing at the chair next to the bed.

Monty nods, sitting up.

I sit in the chair and pull it as close to the bed. I stare at Monty. He stares down at his hands. I study his face. I’m sitting on his non-bandaged side, probably so he can hear.

“I’m so sorry,” is the first thing that comes out of me.

Monty turns and it feels like the first time since I walked in that he’s actually _looking_ at me. “What?”

“This is kind of my fault,” I say.

Monty shakes his head but he doesn’t say anything, so I don’t know what it means. We sit in silence for a few moments, me still taking stock of his face. It should horrify me. But I’ve already seen Monty beaten like this before. It just makes me sad.

I reach out for him, slowly, so he knows what I’m doing. Monty nods and leans into me, pressing his face into my shoulder as I wrap my arm around his. He winces a little when I make contact with his bruises. It hurts to see him hurting.

I love him and he might love me back. But now is definitely not the time to address that.

“Did Felicity tell you what the doctors said?” Monty asks, sitting up a little.

I nod. “About your hearing, yeah.”

Monty smiles wryly. “I’ll never really get rid of him, will I?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s be completely optimistic and say we take my dad to court, Mom gets the divorce, and dear old Dad gets ten to fifteen years,” Monty says. I nod to show that I’m following, but I hardly feel like I am. “Even if I never have to see him again, he’ll have me fucked over for the rest of my life.”

“Monty, that’s—” I start.

“That’s what? True?” Monty interrupts. “All he wanted in life was to ruin mine.”

I don’t know what to say. _This is all your fault_.

I stayed with Monty for about two hours. I ran to get him Cane’s because the hospital food is just as shitty as it used to be.

Monty didn’t talk to me much, after a while. He just sat there, listening to me talk about anything. I thought talking would stress him out because he had trouble hearing me, but every time I stopped he would nudge me in the side until I started again. Felicity came in to tell me when their mom was on her way.

“You don’t necessarily have to leave,” Felicity said, “but if you’re going to, now would be the time.”

Monty shook his head. “You should go home.”

“Okay, text me?”

“I don’t—”

“Here,” Felicity said, setting Monty’s phone on a table by the bed. “I got it from home.”

“Thanks, Feli,” Monty said quietly.

Felicity nodded but didn’t say anything. It’s painful, sometimes, watching Felicity and Monty try to be nice to each other. They’re so bad at it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked Monty.

Monty nodded.

I leaned down and kissed his forehead. I probably shouldn’t have. I don’t know where we are or how he feels about me. Felicity was watching and she looked just as surprised as I felt. Monty didn’t react, just looked up at me. Before either of them could say anything or I could embarrass myself, I left.

That was last night. Now, I’m on my way to see Monty again. I stopped at Target, though. I’m getting him some things to hopefully cheer him up a little. I know I can’t solve years’ worth of trauma with some snacks and nail polish but I just want Monty to know that I’m here.

In our sophomore year, Monty painted his nails. He loved it and he was really good at it. But his dad hit him for it so hard that he missed a day of school. Sometimes he mentions doing it again and I have to watch his face fall as I remind him what might happen.

But if his dad truly won’t be around anymore, Monty might like it. I don’t know what color Monty would choose, so I play it safe with his favorite color: teal. I also buy him a bag of kettle corn because he has a bit of an obsession.

When I get to the hospital, I remember my way up to Monty’s room. He’s alone, sitting in the hospital bed, knees pulled up to his chest. He’s watching some game show on the TV, but I don’t think he’s really watching it. His eyes are dull, a little unfocused. It’s a look on his face I’m familiar with.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” he says back. He sets his chin on his knees.

“Where’s Felicity?” I ask, sitting at the end of the bed.

Monty shrugs. “Not sure. She mentioned she was going somewhere, but I don’t know where.”

“Oh,” I say. “How are you feeling?” It’s a stupid question to ask, but Monty seems to be in one of those moods where everything I do to interact with him feels wrong.

“Like I would cut off my other ear for a drink right now,” Monty says flatly.

I blink. I have no idea what to do right now.

Monty started drinking when he was in boarding school. There was this guy who he started screwing around with who got him into it. Eventually, Monty was only hooking up with him for the alcohol. When he came home from boarding school, expelled for drinking, and his dad beat the hell out of him then, he really started to spiral. He drank all the time and he still does. Usually, though, he avoids me when he’s in a mood like this. He gets as drunk as possible and I have to come by the next morning and find him like that if I’m lucky. If I’m not, he’ll usually be home that afternoon.

“Well, I brought you something,” I say.

Monty quirks an eyebrow.

I pull out the kettle corn first and his eyes light up, just a little. He takes the bag and opens it right away. “You’re too good to me sometimes, Perce,” he says, popping pieces into his mouth.

I force a laugh. “I also have another thing,” I say. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it.” I pull the nail polish out of the bag and set it on a side table. Monty’s eyes get wide and he looks up at me like he’s asking for permission. “Well?” I say.

Monty opens his mouth like he wants to say something but he doesn’t. He picks up the bottle and smiles, just a little. It’s a little sad, a little fragile, but it’s beautiful because it’s his.

I visit Monty every day for the next few days. One day. I bring my violin and play for him for most of the day. The doctors are talking about letting him out soon because other than still not being able to hear out of one ear—they suspect that’s permanent—he’s healing fine. 

“Well, I do have experience with speedy recoveries, don’t I?” Monty had joked. Felicity and I, who were there with him at the time, didn’t laugh. 

It’s hard to laugh about all of this so soon, or ever. And it’s hard to ignore the hollowness in Monty’s eyes and his voice. It feels like those weeks after boarding school when Monty first started to spiral and the worst of the depression hit. But he tries so hard to be fine and I play along.

“My mom said she’s on her way up,” he says. My cue to leave. “Hopefully she’s brought me food from the outside world.”

“I would’ve brought you something if you asked.”

“You bring me things every day. It’s time for the family to start pulling their weight.” 

I snort. “Who’s paying the hospital bill?”

Monty purses his lips, silent for a moment. “Well, I still want non-hospital food.”

“I’ll bring you something tomorrow.”

“Thank you, darling. _Someone_ has mercy for the decrepit.”

“Felicity got tired of you?”

“A bit,” he admits. “She says that if I feel well enough to complain, I’m well enough to do things for myself.”

“She might have a point.”

“I’m not allowed to leave and that’s hardly my fault.”

“Does this mean I can stop doing things for you when you’re out of the hospital?”

Monty laughs. “I’m pretty sure it’s a key component of our friendship, so no.”

“That sounds like a toxic relationship.”

“It’s symbiotic,” Monty corrects me.

“What do I get in return?” I ask.

“My eternal love and admiration.” I’m about to retort when Monty’s phone beeps again. “It’s Mom again. You should probably head out if you want to get past her.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hopefully to free me from my prison.”

“You know, I’m starting to see Felicity’s reasoning.”

Monty scoffs. “Leave.”

I raise my hands in surrender, backing out of the door.

In the hall, I check my phone. Mama is asking what I want for dinner because tonight we are supposed to have our monthly shitty movie night.

“Percy?”

I stop and look up from my phone. It’s Monty’s mom. Until now, I managed to avoid her while visiting Monty. I hardly ever saw Monty’s mom when at his house too. She always seemed to fade into the background.

Now, it’s hard to overlook her, but not in a good way. She’s a bit of a mess: blonde hair in a messy bun; dark circles under her eyes, making them look all the bluer; swallowed in baggy sweats. Mrs. Montague isn’t young, exactly, but she isn’t old. She’s in her early forties, I think. She looks like she’s aged twenty years since I last saw her.

“Missus Montague,” I say, surprised. I honestly didn’t remember the sound of her voice.

She grimaces. “Please, just Eleanor.”

“Oh,” I say. We stand there, staring at each other for some of the longest seconds of my life. This is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid while avoiding her. “Well, I better—” I start, moving to step around her keep walking.

Eleanor stops me. “Percy, wait,” she says, reaching for my arm.

I stop and turn to meet her eyes. “Ma’am?”

“I-I need to ask a favor from you.” She lets go of my arm but pins me in place with her eyes.

“What is it?” I ask, nervous.

“As you know,” she starts, “we are trying to press charges against Henry’s father.”

I nod. Sometimes, I forget that Monty isn’t Monty’s first name. It catches me off guard to hear him called otherwise.

“I’m also trying to divorce him and keep him away from both of them, though especially Henry.”

“Funny, I didn’t think you cared what happened to him.” I surprise myself when I say it. It’s true but it’s definitely _not_ what she needs to hear right now. I’ve never really been fond of Monty’s parents, but it’s not like I have the same burning hatred for his mother as I do for his father.

My eyes widen and I put a hand over my mouth. I’m about to apologize when Eleanor puts a hand out.

“I know I haven’t been a very good mother,” Eleanor says, her voice shaking like she might cry.

_Oh my god, I’m about to make a grown woman cry._

“But I’m trying to fix it now. I’m doing what I should have done years ago. You, Henry, and Felicity all have every right to be angry with me. But I’m trying to make things right, Percy.”

“I—”

“I need you to testify,” Eleanor says in a rush.

I’m taken aback. “What?”

Eleanor takes my hands, getting increasingly desperate. “You’re the only one who can, Percy. Felicity and I don’t know enough. Henry won’t talk about it. You’ve seen it all. You’ve seen what my husband has done to Henry. Please, you have to tell the court.”

“Eleanor—”

“If you love my son, you’ll do this for him.”

I don’t know what to say. I know that this will help Monty. I would do anything to help Monty. But this isn’t what I had in mind. I don’t know what I should say, how much Monty would want me to tell.

“And I need you to be honest,” Eleanor adds. “Tell them everything, everything that Henry’s father ever did to hurt him and everything that Henry’s father caused. Even Henry’s . . . Henry’s alcoholism.”

It’s like being hit by a train. Over and over. She knows. She _knows._ She knew and she did nothing, ever. It makes me so angry I can’t even speak for a second. It’s a little unfair, maybe, to be so angry at a woman in her position. But she wasn’t there. She didn’t have to stay up with Monty so he didn’t choke on his own vomit, or watch over him in shady bars so nobody drugged and kidnapped him, or go into a panic when Monty didn’t wake up after a night of drinking thinking maybe that would be the day he died.

I put a hand on the wall to steady myself.

“Please,” Eleanor says, her voice almost a whisper. “For Henry.”

I nod. “Okay, I’ll do it for Monty.”

“Thank you, you—”

“But you have to promise me something.”

Eleanor looks surprised. “Pardon?”

“When things calm down, when Monty gets out of the hospital, you put him in therapy. I don’t care if he has to be dragged, kicking and screaming. I’ve watched him spiral for _years._ ” I pause to let the words sink in. “Do you actually want to be better for him?” I ask. I was raised to be more respectful than this, but my anger makes me bold.

“Yes,” Eleanor breathes, eyes wide.

“Then you’ll make sure he gets help. I’ll testify in court because I do love Monty, probably more than anyone else in this damn world. I want him to be safe and happy. But I can’t be the only one caring about him. If you really want to help Monty, make sure he goes to therapy. If you really want to protect Monty from your husband, there are nearly ten years of trauma for him to work through and he needs someone who can help him do that.”

Eleanor stares at me. She doesn’t look angry, just sad. She looks sadder than I’ve ever seen a woman look. But it’s hard for me to feel as sympathetic towards her, knowing what I know. Finally, she says, “When he’s out of the hospital, I’ll start finding someone to help Henry.”

“Good,” I say. “Goodnight, Eleanor.”

With that, I step around her and leave.

Two days later, Monty is released from the hospital. He says he’ll come to my house to pick me up, so I wait in my room, which has been reorganized twice now.

I jump when the doorbell rings.

“I’ve got it!” Mama calls up. I hear the door open before I can run down and stop her. I hear her surprised _Oh!_ and I know she sees Monty. His bruises are still healing. It’s not the prettiest sight.

I make it down to the front door.

“—told me but I had no idea—” Mama is saying.

I cut her off. “Monty!” I say. It’s a little too loud and forceful but I’m mainly trying to rescue him.

Mama turns around and they both look relieved. “Hey. baby, were you expecting Monty?”

“Uh, yeah, we’re going out to celebrate his first day released.”

“Well,” Mama says, “you two have fun.”

Monty looks like he’s ready to melt into the floor.

“Right,” I say. “Bye, Mama.” I kiss her cheek and rush out of the house, practically yanking Monty with me to his car. “Sorry about that.”

“It looks that bad, huh?” Monty asks.

“N-no,” I say.

“You hesitated.”

“I did not!”

Monty sighs. He gets into his car and I get into the passenger seat. “I know I look like a punching bag,” he says, followed by a sigh. “By the way, I can’t really hear you if you sit on that side of me so . . .”

I stare at him for a second. I always sat on his left side in the hospital. I didn’t exactly _forget_ that Monty is deaf in one ear, at least temporarily, but I had stopped being so aware of it.

Monty bites his lip. “Yeah,” he says quietly.

We sit in silence for the rest of the ride. It’s a heavy silence. _This is all your fault_.

Monty doesn’t feel in place in public yet. He says it’s disorienting, not being able to hear right around so many people. Instead, we get Wendy’s in the drive-through and drive to the duck pond.

The duck pond is a park, you guessed it, next to a duck pond. It’s a popular spot for five to eleven-year-olds and their moms, but you can find a lot of kids here with nothing better to do during the summer. Monty parks in a field next to the park though so we’re out of the way and can’t really be bothered by all the kids there. It’s overcast today so there aren’t as many out as there usually are.

We sit on a blanket that Monty had in his trunk. We eat our Wendy’s in comfortable silence but I’m sure to sit on Monty’s left side.

Finally, I can’t take the silence anymore.

“Well, do the doctors know if it’s permanent or not?” I ask.

Monty is silent and at first, I’m not sure if he heard me. Then, he says, “They suspect that it is. They’re not one hundred percent sure, but I have to go in for a follow-up in about two weeks. We’ll know then I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. I can’t imagine being in his situation.

Monty shakes his head. “It is what it is.”

“Do you know what’s going to happen with your father?”

Monty flinches like _I_ slapped him. “No,” he says, softly, “not really. He bailed himself out of jail, after an initial court appearance. Now it’s just Mom trying to divorce him and place restraining orders.”

I hesitate, then ask, “Are you going to press charges?”

“No,” Monty says without missing a beat.

“What?”

“I’m not,” Monty says, firm. “It won’t do anything if I do. He can buy his way out of anything. I’d rather just move across the country and change my name than have to spend months dealing with him. I’m glad that Mom is divorcing him and trying to keep him away from Felicity, but nothing I try to do would matter.” He says it in a calm, monotone way. I can tell he has thought a lot about it and he’s resigned himself to this.

Another heavy silence.

I stare down at my half-eaten chicken sandwich. I don’t have as much of an appetite anymore. I want to fix this. I want to undo everything I ever did that led to this point. I wish I hadn’t kissed Monty. I wish I hadn’t ruined his life.

“Percy?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s something else I need to tell you.”

My heart practically stops but I nod.

He’s silent for a long moment. Then, he says, “I have feelings for you, Percy.”

I stop, staring at him. He meets my gaze like he wants to look away, but holds it. “What?”

“I have feelings for you,” he says again. “I have for a long time.”

“I-I don’t know what to say.” It’s true. Normally, I would leap for joy if Monty told me he loved me like that. But we’re not under normal circumstances.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Monty says. It’s like he physically recoils. He starts rambling. “I get it, I thought that when you kissed me that you might have— but I shouldn’t have—”

“Wait, Monty, listen,” I say. “It’s just that . . . I know you’re hurting and things are really hectic right now. I don’t want to be some kind of coping mechanism for what you’re going through now. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret when all of this is over.” If Monty said that he’d made a mistake and wanted to end things afterward, I would let him go without question. But I know I wouldn’t be able to handle it. This almost-ness with Monty is safer than blatant rejection.

“Percy—”

“I have feelings for you too, Monty. I’ve loved you for years. But now isn’t a good time to act on that.”

Monty nods, biting his lip.

“When all of this has calmed down, and you’re in the right headspace, if you want to try to make something happen between us I’m all for it. I’d love to try to make something between us when you’re thinking clearly, okay?”

“Okay,” Monty says. “God, I feel stupid.”

“You’re not,” I say.

“Right,” he replies, staring down at his hands. I think he’s pulling away from me, putting up those walls I’ve spent years working away at.

I reach for his hand. He lets me take it and lace our fingers together. His nails are still painted, if a little chipped. “Stay with me, Monty. Don’t pull away from me. I’m here. I’m still here. I still love you. I’m still your best friend.”

I’m being braver than I usually am. But this past week has been a lot for both of us. I think that things are going to start changing, for the better. But I can’t keep tiptoeing around Monty. If Eleanor is trying to be better for him, I should too.

I think when Monty pulls away, all he wants is for someone to pull him back in.

Monty smiles, a small, self-deprecating smile. “I’m sorry you have to put up with this.”

“With what?”

“With me.”

“You make it sound like a burden.”

“Isn’t it?”


	2. part two: broken shards

[ _fic playlist!_ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0iqi50kflDdMjt7nQtBTxx?si=vyozzXe9RtKzn9Kp1LP3AA)

**monty**

The walls in my new bedroom are bare.

There are boxes all over the floor that I haven’t bothered to unpack. I only took things out to make my bed and set up the small side table next to it. It’s been almost two weeks since I was released from the hospital and my Mom didn’t waste a second finding us a new place to live. My father is at his house, the house I had lived in for nineteen years up until this point. Mom, Felicity, and I are in a three-bedroom apartment that she hunted down. I should like it, being out of my father’s big house that’s full of memories, but this isn’t what I had in mind when I imagined living in an apartment one day.

I hear Mom doing something in the kitchen, cabinets shutting and the oven beeping. I turn over so that my good ear is against the bed. I can’t hear anything.

I’m supposed to go to the doctor’s today to talk about my hearing. I’d rather do anything else.

I see the door open and sit up. Mom is standing in the doorway. She constantly looks disheveled these days and I hate it. Where is my perfectly composed mother? Why does she get to fall apart right now? Why now? I want to scream at her, but about what I don’t know.

“We’re leaving for the doctor’s in half an hour,” she says.

I nod.

“I made cookies, if you want any.”

Back to this, then. Guilt treats. It’s like I’m fourteen again.

I shake my head.

“Alright,” she mutters. “Be ready in thirty.” With that, she leaves, shutting the door behind her.

My phone buzzes and I pick it up. Felicity texted me.

**Felicity: Am I coming with you? To the doctor’s?**

**Monty: do you want to?**

**Felicity: I want to be there**

**Monty: sure**

Having Felicity around might make it easier for me and Mom. I don’t think we’ve spoken to each other this much in more than two years. She always looks at me like she’s sorry and I’m tired of her being sorry.

I get out of bed and stretch. My shoulders are sore a lot these days. I pull a shirt and jeans out of a box. Right now, I’m wearing boxers and one of Percy’s shirts. I don’t remember when he left it or how it ended up in my things when packing, but it did and I’ve been embarrassingly attached to it.

I put on my shoes and I consider going to the bathroom to look at my hair but it’s too much effort. The doctors have seen me at worse than this by now.

When I emerge from my room, Felicity and Mom are sitting on the couch, having an intense discussion. They both look up when I enter, alert. Talking about me, then.

“Are we ready?” I ask.

They both nod.

“Let me get my purse,” Mom says, disappearing into her room.

Felicity walks over to me. “You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Pretty much,” I say.

“Your hair is a mess.”

I wave a hand dismissively. “It’s only my second-best feature.”

Felicity snorts. “What’s your first?”

I gesture to my face with an expression that says _duh_.

Felicity scrunches her nose.

“You’re going to give yourself wrinkles like that.”

Felicity swats my arm. “You sound like Mom.”

Speak of the devil, our mother returns. “Let’s get going,” she says. For a few minutes, bickering with Felicity felt so normal. It was a sense of normalcy I hardly feel anymore. But that feeling is ruined as I follow my mother and Felicity to Mom’s car. I sit in the passenger seat in front which means I can’t plead deafness to get out of a conversation. The ride is silent anyway.

We get to the doctor’s office and I fall in step with Felicity behind Mom. I really do feel like a kid again, trailing after his mommy.

Mom checks me in and we sit for a few minutes before a nurse leads us back. The doctor is already in the room. He introduces himself as Doctor Robles. He’s an older man with dark hair and a Spanish accent. He asks me questions that I had already been asked in the hospital.

“And you still can’t hear out of your right ear?” he asks.

I nod.

“In that case, we should start discussing options as your hearing loss appears to be permanent. Plenty of people with one-sided deafness continue their lives without any kind of aid. But because you’ve spent your entire life hearing up until this point, I think it’s best to make you aware of options that can compensate for the loss. In the end, using an aid or not is completely up to you.”

I nod again. It all feels a little more real, now. Not that it didn’t already seem very, _very_ real.

“There are aids made for people like you with single-sided deafness. Cros hearing aids are made up of two wireless aids. One will go behind your deaf ear as a sort of microphone to pick up sounds on your deaf side. Another will go on your hearing ear to transmit the sounds picked up by the microphone.”

“Are there alternatives?” Mom asks.

“Yes, there are also bone-anchored auditory implants. That is a surgically implanted device that conducts sound vibration through the bones of the skull.”

Mom starts asking other questions and I start to tune her out. I don’t want to listen or talk about any of this. I don’t like thinking about getting something screwed into my head, that’s for sure.

Not for the first time, I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish things could have gone back to how they were: go to parties, get drunk, come home, get hit, repeat. Throw in some pining for Percy and hookups. I could have kept that going all the way into college until I settled down with whatever heiress my father chose or died of alcohol poisoning. That was fine. I was fine. Now, I don’t know what to do with myself. I still pine for Percy, of course. But I haven’t heard too much from him since I got out of the hospital. He texts me some but he doesn’t visit all the time. No matter what he says, I know I scared him off with my confession.

I don’t know what I was thinking. Just because he kissed me doesn’t mean he loves me. Could he even love me, especially now? Did I expect Percy to love me? I don’t know what I expected.

“Henry?” Mom says, making me flinch as I refocus on the conversation. I don’t know why she won’t call me Monty.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you have any questions?” Doctor Robles asks.

“Not really,” I say.

“Do any of the options sound like what you want?” Mom asks.

“Uh, can I think about it?” I ask

“Of course,” Doctor Robles says. “How about we meet again next week? If you’ve made a decision we can start looking into it. If not, we can talk more in-depth about your options. Does that sound good?”

My mother opens her mouth to say something but I interrupt her. “That sounds good.”

When we get back to the apartment, Mom is still pushing for an opinion. “Are you sure none of them stuck out to you? You do want to get an aid of some kind, don’t you?”

I stop in the entryway to face her. Felicity squeezes past me. “Can’t you just let me think about it for more than ten minutes?” I ask, a bit snappishly.

“Henry, I know this is hard to deal with but we—” She reaches out like she’s going to hug me. I step back so quickly I almost jump.

“Please, don’t bother,” I say. Felicity, who is standing in the hallway, looks shocked. “There is no _we_ right now.”

Mom stares at me. She looks like she might cry. “Henry, I-I’m just trying to support you through your loss.”

“Exactly, _my_ loss. Not yours. This is all me, Mother. You don’t get to act like you’re heartbroken, like this is so hard for you. You don’t get to check out for _nineteen fucking years_ , then decide that you want in again!”

“I’m sorry, Henry! I’m trying—”

“Guess what? I don’t fucking care! I don’t care that you’re trying! You haven’t tried my whole life! You haven’t cared about what happens to me for years! If it takes me being _hospitalized_ for you to care, then you don’t care at all!” I’m shouting now. Mom is really crying now but I don’t care. If sobbing to myself while I was in the shower at the hospital was years of sadness getting out, this is years of anger. “You’ve made it _very_ clear that divorcing him and moving out wasn’t any sort of issue. But you stood by and watched it all happen! My whole life! So no, I don’t want your goddamn cookies and I don’t want your goddamn hugs! None of it _means_ anything! You didn’t even look at me when he probably broke my rib. When he shoved me into a fireplace and chipped my tooth, you didn’t even ask about it! I had to cut class to get it fixed! You haven’t cared about me in a long time so don’t start pretending that you do now.”

She’s still crying. Felicity is standing in the hallway still, watching me with wide eyes. I go to my room before I say something else that I’ll regret. I don’t regret what I said. It was all true. But if I keep going, it’ll just be plain mean.

I collapse on the bed, not even bothering with my shoes. Felicity knocks on the door a few minutes later but I don’t say anything so she doesn’t come in. Now I feel stuck and restless. I pull my phone out of my pocket and do something else I’ll probably regret.

**Monty: hey**

**Richard: Hey**

**Richard: Thought you disappeared**

**Monty: nope**

**Monty: are you busy?**

**Richard: No**

**Richard: You want to come over?**

**Monty: yeah**

**Richard: I’ll be waiting**

Richard Peele is, appropriately, a dick. He’s the absolute worst. I hate him. Percy hates him. We have an inside joke about hating him. On a related note, Richard Peele was also my first kiss.

In middle school, Richard kissed me at his parent’s Christmas party. It was fine, as far as first kisses go. It wasn’t earth-shattering. I already knew I was bisexual, though I hadn’t found the words for it yet. I even considered that he liked me. A few days later, though, Richard ran to his parents and claimed that I had forced him to kiss me which couldn’t be further from the truth. His parents were understandably outraged and told my father who forced me to apologize to Richard’s parents and then hit me until I couldn’t see straight. It was the first time he hit me multiple times.

Richard told everyone his version of what happened and no one would even look at me. But Richard’s parents forced him to invite all the boys in our class to his birthday party a few weeks later. Percy avenged me during mini-golf when he “accidentally” hit Richard in the head with his club. Of course, nobody believed Percy did it on purpose, no matter how much Richard insisted that he did. He couldn’t explain _why_ Percy would want to hit him without exposing himself. I think that moment cemented Percy as my best friend. He defended me when no one else would even look me in the eye.

Richard never apologized for what happened. But he did kiss me again, not long after I came home from boarding school. He’s a good kisser, I’ll give him that. He’s good at other things, too. 

Driving to Richard’s house is silent. I don’t play music when I drive now because it’s on my deaf side.

I’m at a red light when my phone vibrates. I look at it because I’m stopped. It’s Percy.

**Percy: Hey**

**Percy: Are you free? Do you want to come over?**

**Percy: You had your doctor’s appointment today, didn’t you?**

I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t after he’s been avoiding me lately. But it’s Percy or Richard and that’s really no choice at all.

Percy’s house is always cozy. I like being here. It’s how I imagine a house should be. It’s a little messy here and there, the lights aren’t ridiculously bright, and the house usually smells like food. Percy’s mom is at work right now so it doesn’t smell like food, though the rest still applies.

But the first thing Percy asks me after greetings are out of the way is, “Have you eaten today?”

I shake my head.

Percy frowns. “It’s like three o’clock.”

I shrug. “It’s been a day.”

“You want to talk about it?” he asks, leading me into his kitchen.

“I sort of screamed at my mom,” I say, sitting at the table.

Percy’s frown deepens. “Why?” he asks as he pulls a box of macaroni and cheese down from the cabinet.

I explain what happened with Mom. Percy listens intently and doesn’t interrupt. When I’m done, I expect him to scold me.

“I think you had a point,” he says instead.

“You do?”

Percy nods. “I’m sure she had her reasons, but there isn’t a lot that can excuse how your mom treated you. I think you were right to say what you said. Maybe not screamed it,” he adds, “but you had every right to say it.”

“I just wish she’d leave me alone a lot of the time. I can handle this shit on my own, you know? It’s what I’ve been doing for years. I don’t need my mommy’s help. It’s not like she’s making the decision any easier.”

“Have you thought about it? What you’re going to choose?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I admit. “I . . . will it even work? Would it help? Or would it just be worse?”

“How so?”

“Remember the summer your aunt made you try going vegan because she thought it would help with your seizures and it was just sad versions of regular food?”

Percy grimaces. “Too well.”

“What if it’s like that?”

“I don’t think you’ll ever have to eat meat-free haggis.”

“ _Meat-free haggis_?”

“I _tasted_ things, Monty. I tasted things that no fifteen-year-old boy should ever have to taste.”

“You poor child.”

Percy snorts. He walks to the other side of the kitchen to drain water from the pot and says something that I can’t decipher.

“Deaf side,” I say. It always gives me a weird feeling in my chest. Almost like grief.

“Shit,” Percy says, returning to his original side. “Sorry.”

I shrug.

“So, the hearing aids,” he says. The room turns serious again.

“I honestly just don’t know,” I say.

Percy leaves the pot on the stove to cook and pulls a chair in front of me. “Maybe you’ll just have to try it and see what works for you.”

I shrug again. “I feel like I don’t know anything,” I say quietly. “I know it sounds stupid but . . . this feels like the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t know what to do about any of it.”

Percy reaches over and takes my hand. “It doesn’t sound stupid.”

“You’re allowed to agree with me more than once a day, you know.”

“Well, I don’t. Your life has been kind of . . .”

“Ruined?” I supply.

“Upturned,” Percy says pointedly.

I’m silent. I stare down at our hands. My fingernails only have a few bits of polish left on them. Maybe I’ll ask Percy to repaint them for me.

“What-what are you going to do about college?” Percy asks hesitantly. “Are you still going to major in business now that . . . you know?”

I nod. I’ve given this some thought. In the fall, Percy and I are supposed to go to the same college out of state. He’s going to be a music major because it’s what he loves. I was going to be a business major because my father chose it. I’m not sure what I would do instead, but I don’t think I want to do that. It’s not like I have a business to inherit anymore.

“I don’t think I’m going to start this fall.”

“No?”

I shake my head. “Probably choose a new major, when I know what I want to do. But I think if I started college in two months I would be a dropout.”

Percy squeezes my hand but doesn’t say anything.

“Sorry I’m ditching you, Perce.”

“What? I don’t care about that.”

“Gee thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Percy says. “I mean, I don’t blame you. I’m fine with a semester without you if it’s better for you.”

“That’s the tentative plan, then.”

Percy nods. His phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket. He starts typing a response when the water in the pot starts boiling over.

“Damnit,” Percy says, shooting to his feet and starts dealing with the pot.

His phone sits on the table, face up. I am not typically a nosy person, especially with Percy. Percy and I tell each other everything. However, if I see my own name on the screen, I think I’m entitled to a little snooping. 

The texts are with Felicity. There are some from earlier today.

**Felicity: Monty just got into a fight with our mom and now he’s leaving**

**Felicity: Make sure he doesn’t do something stupid**

**Percy: Okay**

And then there’s a text from a few minutes ago.

**Felicity: How’s it going?**

Percy started typing a reply but didn’t finish before the pot started boiling over.

“So that’s the reason you invited me over?” I ask. It slips out of me.

Percy turns to look at me, holding the pot and a spoon. “What?”

“You and Felicity are what? Fucking tag-teaming me or something?”

“Monty, no—”

“It’s bad enough that you’ve been avoiding me for two weeks. Now, the only reason you invite me over is because my _baby sister_ asked you to?” I stand up. “If I scared you off that badly, you could’ve just fucking told me.”

Percy is stammering. He nearly drops the longsuffering pot of macaroni and cheese.

“I get it,” I say, making my way towards the door.

“Monty, wait!” This time he _does_ drop it. It clatters onto the stove. Percy practically lunges to grab my arm. It’s Percy. I’m used to Percy touching me and none of his movements, no matter how sudden, should bother me. But this one does. I flinch, throwing my hands up.

Percy and I both stop in our tracks, staring at each other. It’s a heavy silence. It makes me want to start screaming again.

“I-I’m so sorry, Monty, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” I say, quietly.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he says.

I scoff. “Two weeks of almost silence isn’t avoiding me?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to avoid you.”

“What did you _mean_ to do, Percy?”

Percy is silent for a long moment. “I guess I felt guilty,” he admits. His voice is soft. “I thought maybe you’d be better off without me.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Percy takes a step towards me, slow and deliberate. He’s watching me like I might spook. “Monty, I feel guilty about what happened.” He takes my hand again. “It’s my fault, you ending up in the hospital.”

“It is _not_ —” I say quickly.

“It is,” Percy insists. “If I hadn’t kissed you, your father wouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s not like he never would have.”

“Has he ever hit you that badly before?”

I shrug. “I’ve never been hospitalized.”

Percy sighs. “And if I hadn’t been so stupid, you probably wouldn’t have.”

“Percy—”

“Come _on_ , Monty. You said it yourself! This ruined your life!”

“But _you_ didn’t!”

“Monty—”

“ _Percy_ ,” I say firmly. “You didn’t do this to me.” He doesn’t say anything so I squeeze his hand. I want to say more: that the only person to blame is my father, that Percy is the only thing that makes my life worth living, that I could never stay mad at him. But I don’t know how. I think everyone has some part of them, a knack for saying the right thing at the right time, that just skipped over me.

Percy looks stressed out. I squeeze his hand again and take his other one. “I wish I could fix this, all of it.”

“My deafness?”

“All of it,” he says. “I wish I could undo all the damage your father ever did.”

“You think I’m damaged?”

“I think he tried to damage you.”

An hour later, my head is in Percy’s lap while we watch TV. I’m not sure either of us actually knows what we’re watching. (I can’t even hear the TV because my good ear is against Percy’s leg.) His fingers are in my hair, mindlessly playing with the curls.

 _What are we?_ I want to ask him. _What is this?_

Percy and I have always been hands-on with each other. Laying my head in his lap would have been totally normal before. It still is, but I can’t help overthinking it. Percy handles me like I’m some sort of precious object. I love him. I love him so much that it hurts, sometimes. But I can’t tell if he feels the same or if he’s just being kind. 

Percy pokes my shoulder. I sit up. “Did you say something?”

He nods. “You should probably head home. My mom will be home soon and I’m sure yours is worried.”

“I couldn’t give a single fuck if she is.”

“Monty,” Percy murmurs. There’s the chastising.

“I thought you said I was right.”

Percy sighs. He pulls me to his chest and I don’t stop him. I’m tempted to press my good ear against his chest so I don’t have to listen to Percy being rational. “I said you had a point. But you shouldn’t be cruel to her.”

“This isn’t cruel,” I say.

Percy just hums in response, a _sure, Monty_ sound.

“That’s not fair.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were thinking traitorous thoughts.”

Percy laughs. “What kind of thoughts?”

“You think I’m being ridiculous.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Right.”

“I just don’t think you should spend the rest of your life hating her.”

“I think I can.”

Percy sighs again, a deeper one this time. He kisses the crown of my head. “I think you have more than enough people to be angry at. It’ll wear you down, staying angry at everyone, and she’s not worth that.”

My mom isn’t in the apartment when I get home. Felicity’s car is parked outside but I don’t see any sign of her.

I go to the kitchen, though it’s not like there's anything there for me. There isn’t any kind of alcohol in this whole apartment. It’s not like I can go buy some myself. It drives me a little crazy, in all honesty, but it’s definitely not my biggest problem right now (maybe the second biggest) and I was forced to get used to it in the hospital. 

I wonder if my mother didn’t keep any alcohol in the apartment on purpose or if she just doesn’t drink much. My drinking habit was a bit of a known secret with my parents. Like any parents would be, they weren’t thrilled to find out that their teenager had started drinking but they didn’t _do_ anything about it. Father would hit me. Mom would ask _Have you been drinking again, Henry?_ and I would say no, like a liar. Then we would all carry on with our lives.

When my search in the kitchen proves to be in vain, I go to my room. It’s depressing to look at, in all honesty. I wonder if I could convince Percy to help me set up, completely different from my room in my father’s house. I text him.

**Monty: would you do me a favor?**

**Percy: That depends**

**Monty: i need to set my room up but i don’t want to do it by myself**

**Percy: You still haven’t unpacked?**

**Monty: will you help me or not?**

**Percy: Sure, tomorrow?**

**Monty: sure**

**Percy; WAIT I HAVE A CONDITION**

**Monty: ????**

**Percy: I get to pick music**

**Monty: are you trying to make me MORE depressed?**

**Percy: I’ll play Hozier**

**Percy: Lord and savior of your people**

**Monty: who are my people?**

**Percy: Bottoms**

**Monty: ,,,,**

**Monty: fine**

The next day, Percy comes to the apartment around noon. I answer the door instead of my mother, who I still haven’t spoken to since I yelled at her yesterday. I’m trying to keep her from trying to involve herself in the most sacred aspect of my life: Percy.

I lead him back to my room.

“It really is empty in here,” he says.

“What? You didn’t believe me?”

“I thought you were being dramatic.”

I gasp. “When am I _ever_ dramatic?”

Percy just rolls his eyes at me. “So, what exactly do you want to do?”

I shrug. “Something different, I guess? Not what I had in my old house.”

“Your bed is in the same spot,” Percy observes.

“Is it?”

“It’s fine. It won’t be hard to move if you want. Is it just a mattress?”

“Yeah,” I say. “We just sort of shoved all my stuff in here. I think the bedframe is still at my old house.”

Percy looks at all of the boxes on the ground and the path I made between them to my bed. “We have a lot of work to do.”

He plays music on his phone and puts it on my bedside table. Then he starts opening boxes. I help him and he starts hanging and setting things up where I direct him while I put away clothes. Sometimes we talk, but most of the time we just coexist. _Wasteland, Baby!_ plays on his phone.

While hanging my pictures (most of them of us) on a clothesline, he starts singing under his breath. Percy rarely sings but I wish he would sing more often—sing for me, at least. I love the sound of his voice. I love how warm it makes me feel. I love him.

Most people make falling in love with someone out to be this monumental, earth-shattering thing. Maybe it is for some people. It wasn’t like that for me. Percy has been my best friend in the whole world for a long time. It just slowly developed into him being that _and_ the person I want to kiss more than anyone else.

My old house never really felt like home. If I have—or ever had—a home, it’s Percy. It’s the way that his smile always puts me at ease and his touches anchor me to the ground. When I can’t even stand the sight of myself, I still want to see Percy. When I was in the hospital and wanted nothing more than to be left alone to die, Percy made it marginally better. I would be dead without Percy. It’s sad but true; if I didn’t have Percy to live for, I probably would have killed myself a long time ago.

I imagine looking him in the eyes and telling him all of this. He would laugh at me. He wouldn’t laugh too hard because he’s Percy and he’s too nice, but I would be forced to relocate and change my name to hide from the humiliation.

Percy probably doesn’t think I’m capable of such complex emotions. Once, when I was very drunk and very depressed, Felicity said about as much.

I had just come back from a party, wasted. I barely made it to the bathroom Felicity and I shared after climbing in through my window before I threw up. Felicity walked in to find me puking into the toilet.

_“That’s absolutely disgusting,” she said._

_I just groaned in reply._

_Felicity propped me against the wall. She wrinkled her nose. “You can’t even take care of yourself,” she muttered._

_“Don’t care about m’self,” I slurred._

_Felicity scoffed. “You don’t care about anything.”_

_“Wrong,” I said, holding up a finger. “Percy.”_

_Felicity shook her head and sighed. “Just because he’s the only one who puts up with this crap.”_

Felicity is wrong, though. I may be a complete burden in every other sense of the word, but I do really love Percy. I try to be good for him. I want to be.

“What?” Percy’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

“What?” I echo.

“You’re staring at me. Do I sound that bad?” he asks, an amused smile on his face.

I shake my head. “No, just zoned out I guess.”

Percy nods then looks back down into the box. “Uh, do you want this picture hung up?” he asks. He pulls out an older picture, one I almost forgot that I had. It was taken when I was about twelve and Felicity was ten. We were on a trip, visiting some grandparents. We’re standing in front of a house, Mom standing next to her parents, Felicity on her other side next to me, and my father beside me, his hand on my shoulder. Everyone else is smiling pleasantly. Felicity has that toothy ten-year-old grin, before she got older and reached the mental age of a fifty-year-old. But my father and I are not. Father has his usual stony, indifferent face. I look like I’m about to start sprinting across the lawn, terrified. I wonder if I had been hit on that trip. I don’t really remember. I don’t remember a lot of my childhood.

“No,” I say. “We can trash that one.”

“Thought so,” Percy murmurs as he throws it away.

There’s a knock at the door and Mom leans in. “I know you two are busy, but I made lemonade so I thought I would leave some for you.” She steps into my room, looks around, then looks away when she makes eye contact with me. She sets two glasses on my desk.

“Thanks, Missu—” Percy stops himself. “Eleanor,” he corrects.

Mom smiles. “You’re welcome,” she says before slipping back out.

Once I’m sure she’s a safe distance away, I turn to Percy. “Eleanor?” I ask.

Percy shrugs. “She asked me to call her that.”

“She _asked you to call her that_ ?” I ask. “When did she even talk to you?” Absolutely not. No. She is not getting involved with my relationship with Percy in any way. Surely she has the mercy to at least leave that alone. I watch Percy and he bites his cheek. He looks guilty. “ _Percy,_ ” I say firmly.

“So, your mom sort of . . . asked me to testify?” He says it like a question. He won’t meet my eyes.

“Testify?” I ask, the wind knocked out of me.

“During the trial,” he says, “she wants me to talk about the things I’ve seen your father do, about how he’s affected you.”

 _How he’s affected me_. It’s like everyone is making these choices about me without me. Everyone gets to have a hand in my life but me. “Why?” I ask.

“She asked me to and I couldn’t say no.”

“Why _not_?”

“Because I’m doing it _for you_ , Monty.”

“I’m tired of everyone doing things _for me_ ,” I snap.

“I know,” Percy says. “But I just want to help you, now that I’m finally able to.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Percy shrugs, setting down some pictures and sitting on my bed. I don’t move to join him. “I guess after all these years of watching your father knock you around, I’m glad I can finally do something about it. This will be a good thing, Monty. It’ll keep him away from you, from Felicity.”

“I’m not sure he’s ever cared much about Felicity,” I admit.

“You both deserve better,” Percy says.

I hum in response, wanting to backtrack. I hate how easily we’ve been falling into these conversations. We’re silent for a stretch until the music cuts off. He changes it to Lorde and I roll my eyes.

“What?” he asks, affronted.

“You would fit in in _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_ ,” I say.

Percy frowns. “Have you ever actually _read The Perks of Being a Wallflower_?”

“No,” I say. “Why?”

Percy just shakes his head and I throw a sock at him.

Percy and I finish around six, and as much as I want him to stay longer, he says he has to go because he’s meeting his dad for dinner. An ugly part of me is jealous of him, the easy way he says that and how he looks forward to seeing his dad. It’s the strange sensation of missing the family you never had: you would cut off your own hand before hugging your parents but there are times when you miss getting a parent-hug, knowing you’ve never actually received one.

I try not to think about it.

Percy hugs me before he leaves, though. He sees himself out so I don’t risk running into my mother. But after thirty minutes of sitting in my room, I realize that it is a risk I’ll have to take because I haven’t eaten all day.

I slip out of my room. I’m almost to the kitchen when I hear my mother’s voice. I think she’s on the phone.

“Because he’s my _son_!” she is saying.

I stop and listen because this must be about me unless Felicity had some _very_ big news that I missed out on.

“You don’t actually want to see him. You just want to make him miserable.” A pause. “It’s all you’ve ever done.”

She’s talking to my father, then.

“I know,” she says. “I shouldn’t have let it go on for so long. But I always cared.”

Bullshit.

“You don’t seem to comprehend,” Mom is saying. Her voice is shaking. “He will _never_ recover from this. The hearing loss is permanent, all because of your cruelty.” Another pause. “ _How_ can you say that?” she asks, incredulous. “How can you treat him like that and not even care? He never did anything wrong, nothing to deserve what you’ve put him through.”

I should stop listening. It’s just them fighting. As unusual of a sound it is, it’s not something I want to listen to. I should walk in and get my food and leave. But then she says something that catches me off guard.

“I don’t _care_! I don’t care if he’s gay, Henry! I’ve never cared!”

Oh. _Oh._ I don’t know how to process this information. I always figured that my mother knew I liked boys. It was only the reason I was hospitalized, along with dozens of other reckonings with my father. I just thought she felt the same way my father did, or that she would “accept” me and make a passive-aggressive comment every time my queerness was brought up. She may very well still be like that.

“I told you, the answer is no. If you come near him, I will call the police.” There’s another pause before I hear my mother hang up and sigh, heavily.

Might as well get it over with. I step into the kitchen. She jumps. “Henry,” she says.

“Well, who was that?” I ask evenly, going to the fridge.

“Your father,” she says. She still sounds like she’s on the verge of tears.

“Did he need something?” I start pulling out sandwich materials—it’s the extent of my cooking skills.

“He wanted to see you.”

I force a laugh. “Well, you’ll have to tell him that I’m all booked up.”

“Henry, please,” Mom says.

“Monty,” I correct her.

“What?”

“Call me Monty instead.”

“Oh,” she says, “okay.”

We’re silent while I continue making my sandwich. When I’m done and am about to return to my room, Mom stops me.

“Monty,” she says. It sounds strange coming from her. “We need to talk.”

“I’d rather not,” I say.

Mom shakes her head. “Please, just sit down.”

I do. I think about what Percy said. He wasn’t totally right, but I guess I should throw her a bone sometimes. She sits on my deaf side. I have to turn my head to hear her.

“We really need to start talking about your life from here,” she says.

“If this is about the hearing aids—”

“It’s not,” she assures me. “It’s about you.”

“Isn’t all of this?”

Mom sighs, putting her face in her hands. “Please, Monty, you’re not making this easy.”

“Should I be?”

She doesn’t have an answer for me and we sit in silence for a few minutes. I eat my sandwich. Finally, she says something that I can’t decipher. I turn my head again.

“What was that?” I ask. “Still deaf, you know.”

“We need to talk about getting you into therapy.”

“Therapy,” I echo. “Why?”

It’s not . . . surprising, exactly. I’m not stupid. I know that my behaviors aren’t always healthy and my childhood wasn’t ideal. Reasonably, I know therapy is in my best interest. I just wasn’t expecting anyone, especially my mother, to push for it. I thought we all understood I was probably beyond the point of no return. Then again, until about three weeks ago, we all understood that I would spend the rest of my life under my father’s control and he would never pay for it. No point in sending me to someone to fix me if he was going to break me again. But if anything, I’ve been on my best behavior these past few weeks. I haven’t had any drinks because there are none here and I haven’t even been able to go to parties because of my ear. I can’t hear anything. And nothing kills the mood quite like _Sorry, could you switch sides? I’m a bit deaf in that ear_ when you’re trying to hook up with someone.

“You need it, Hen–” she stops and corrects herself, “Monty.” She reaches out like she’s going to touch me.

I flinch. “Don’t,” I say. Her face falls and I almost feel guilty. It doesn’t matter that she’s never tried to lay a violent hand on me. I don’t know how to feel anything but the anxiety that tightens my chest and makes me sick to my stomach when an adult reaches for me.

Maybe therapy couldn’t hurt.

“I understand if you’re not ready to forgive me—”

“I‘m not,” I say, quickly.

She nods. “I understand. But I still want to help you.”

“Right,” I say.

“Henry,” she breathes. “Just let me be here for you.”

“You never were before.”

“And I’m sorry!” she cries. “I’ll say it as many times as I need to. I really do want to be better for you, Monty.”

Something tightens in my chest. I’m still angry with her but there’s a tiny, Percy-like part of me that doesn’t want to be. That tiny part of me that still wants those parent hugs _so badly._ And then I start crying. It’s not ugly sobs or anything, just tears that pool in my eyes and I can’t fight back. They stream down my cheeks and I wipe at them, furiously. Mom doesn’t try to touch me again, which I’m grateful for. But she doesn’t look away, which I’m not grateful for. I feel too exposed, crying in front of her like this. It feels like taking a cleaver down the center of my chest. I don’t remember the last time I cried in front of my mother. It’s been a long time. I just wish she’d look away or leave the room. I should leave the room but I can’t force myself to move. I feel stuck. So I’m just sitting here, crying, my mother staring at me. From the look on her face, this is torture for both of us.

I don’t know how long the crying and sniffling goes on for. When the tears ease, I break the silence. “Um,” I manage, “I’m not gay, by the way.”

She’s shocked. “Y–you’re not?”

“Not exactly,” I say. “I’m bisexual.”

She nods, slowly. “That means . . . you like boys _and_ girls, right?”

I nod too, mutely. It’s a little surreal. I never really thought I would need to _come out_ to my parents, or at least to have it not end in shouting and getting hit.

“Okay,” Mom says.

“Th–that’s it? Okay?”

“Do you want me to say something else?”

“No,” I say, “I just expected you to have more of a reaction.”

She smiles, sadly. “I meant it when I said I want to be better for you.”

“I mean yeah, Tchaikovsky slaps, but he’s not my _favorite_. He just feels kind of overplayed,” Percy says as I wrestle with the lock on the apartment. I like listening to Percy ramble.

“I’m sure you’re right, darling.” I finally force the door open, only having one free hand. In my other, I have a CVS and a Taco Bell bag. Percy agreed to repaint my nails if I painted his, so we got polish and Taco Bell on the way to the apartment.

I stop dead in my tracks. Felicity is sitting on the couch and _Jesus Christ._ A shocked, hysterical laugh escapes me. Percy almost drops his burrito supreme.

“Did you have some sort of mental breakdown while we were gone?” I ask. Percy swats at my arm.

Felicity looks up from her book. “What?”

“Your _hair_ ,” I say. “You look like 2007 Britney.” She shaved her head. Well, the side of it. The hair that’s left only hangs to her shoulders now. “Mom is going to have an aneurysm.”

Felicity glares at me. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to say anything.”

“No, no, I _like_ it,” I say. “Kind of punk. You look like the kind of girl that white men with confederate flag bumper stickers would get into arguments with on the subway.”

Felicity blinks at me. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

She grins. “How mad do you think Mom will be?”

“ _Livid_ ,” I say. “So what’s with the change?”

Felicity shrugs. “Just felt like it.”

“It suits you,” Percy says now that he’s recovered.

She smiles then, a genuine smile.

“She _can_ smile,” I say, just to tease her.

Felicity rolls her eyes. “Go away, I’m trying to read.”

“Come on,” Percy says, grabbing my arm and tugging. “Leave her alone.” He pulls me to my room and we set up on the floor. We finish the Taco Bell and Percy starts on my nails. I let Percy pick the color again, so they’re yellow. I’m not mad about it. Percy is surprisingly good at this, better than I am. 

“Have you ever done this before, Perce?” I ask. “Or are you just this good at it?”

Percy shrugs. “My mom let me do hers sometimes when I was younger.”

I can’t help smiling at that mental image. “That’s kind of adorable.”

“I remember being really bad at it,” Percy says.

“Well, you’re better at it now than when you were nine.”

“I would hope so.”

Once my nails dry, I paint Percy’s. They’re a deep blue that I picked out. My hands aren’t as steady as Percy’s but he says they look nice anyway.

When both of our nails are done and neither of us feels like talking anymore, we lay on my bed and watch a John Mulaney special. Percy lays his head on my shoulder and I idly run my fingers through his curls. I’ve always been a little obsessed with Percy’s hair. It’s a black, frizzy cloud around his head but if he ever cut it I would probably kill him. I’ve told him as much.

“Stay the night?” I ask. I miss this, the easy existence with Percy.

“Your mom won’t mind?”

“When she sees Felicity’s hair? She won’t even think about us.”

That night, Percy and I are curled up in bed. My back is to him and I’m facing the wall, good ear pressed to the bed. When I’m sure that Percy’s asleep, I roll over to face him. When I was sixteen and first coming to terms with my feelings, I would do this a lot. I would lay there, staring at Percy’s face while he slept, more than a little terrified. I had just been properly outed to my father and he (most likely) broke one of my ribs.

My father sent me to boarding school when I was fourteen and I was meant to stay all four years of high school. But while I was there I fell in with an older boy named Sinjon. He was the first queer kid I had met at that school and he made me feel less alone. We started hooking up and he introduced me to the party scene and snuck alcohol into school. We wrote notes that I kept because I was sentimental and stupid. When I was sixteen and got expelled for drinking, the school also presented those notes to my father because of some policy about outing students. He got to read _everything_ and throw it back at me—literally. I came home more beaten than I had ever been. I was anxious and suicidal and Percy was the only person there for me, the only person I wanted to live for. Slowly, I fell for him. But I was in the disastrous state that I was and I didn’t even know that Percy was gay. I was full of fear and sadness and longing.

Now, it’s just longing.

I try to get as close to Percy as I can, pressed against his side. Then, Percy’s arm wraps around me in a move too deliberate to be done half-asleep. I stare hard at his face until one of his eyes opens. He smiles at me and pulls me close. 

“Why are you awake?” I ask.

“Why are you?” Percy counters.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I answer.

“Me neither.”

We lay there in comfortable silence for a time. Percy rubs my back and my shoulders (“Why are you so damn tense?”) and kisses my forehead. I feel so _safe_. I could fall asleep right now. But something bothers me and I can’t help asking. “Percy?”

“Hmm?”

“Where are we?”

“What do you mean?”

“I–I mean, I know you said you wanted to not rush or whatever. But then we do stuff like _this_ and I—”

Percy laughs a little. “Cuddling isn’t new.”

“I know,” I say, realizing how stupid I sound. Loving Percy is easy, maybe the easiest thing I’ve ever done. But asking to be loved and letting him love me is so much harder. “I just . . . hate the in-between, I guess.”

“I just didn’t want you to—”

“I know, Perce. But I think that’s a call I get to make.” I look up at him. “I’m not rushing into things or using you, Perce. I want this, _you_.”

Percy smiles. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Of fucking course,” I say.

He laughs. He kisses me and it’s just as amazing as the last time. His hand on my spine makes me shiver and he smiles against my lips. It’s _such_ a good kiss; gentle and sweet and warm. But of course, I have to ruin it.

My brain gets stuck on the last time we kissed. It was also the first time. I was surprised but happy that Percy was kissing me. I was excited. I thought it would lead somewhere. And then my father came in to ruin it. I almost pull up my shoulders on instinct.

Percy must notice that I’m shaken because he pulls back. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“Monty,” he says firmly. “I don’t want to push you. If you’re not ready—“

“I _am_ , Perce! I’ve been ready for _so long_ to be allowed to love you.”

Percy looks taken aback.

I sit up. My eyes sting. Am I really about to cry over this? Am I really going to _cry_ ? “I’ve loved you for _so long_ , Percy, never knowing if I was allowed to. Never knowing if you could love me.”

“I do,” Percy says quickly.

“Then why are we doing this?”

“You’re—”

“Give me one good reason for the in-between that isn’t for my sake. I can decide what’s good for me, Percy.”

Percy gives me a look but doesn’t say anything to that.

“I want something with you,” I say, “if you want it too. If you don’t, fine. We can pretend none of this happened or something.”

“Monty,” Percy says, reaching for my hand. He laces our fingers. “I just . . . feel like we need to wait. We’re not in a good place for this. There’s a lot going on in both of our lives. I’m about to leave for college. It’s just not a good time to start something.”

A pause. “Oh,” I say. I know he says that it isn’t, but it feels a lot like rejection. I try to pull my hand out of Percy’s but he doesn’t let go.

“I just think we shouldn’t exactly be boyfriends or anything yet. We shouldn’t make things _official_. But we can take steps towards that, if you want.”

I nod. I don’t think I’ve ever even technically had a boyfriend. “Yeah, I think that would be good.”

Percy brings the back of my hand to his lips. It pulls a smile from me. I lean back again, attaching myself to his side. He pulls me close and I rest my head on his shoulder. Percy kisses the top of my head. I could get used to this. I don’t know what this is, but it isn’t nothing.

I drive Percy home the next day. I kiss him before he gets out of the car and he smiles.

 _It isn’t nothing_.

I feel lighter on the drive home, almost content. Things obviously aren’t perfect but it’s a new normal. It feels like things are slowly sliding into place. It makes me a little uneasy, having nothing to dread, just allowed to _be._

When I get back to the apartment complex, there’s a different car in Mom’s spot. She’ll be annoyed. I get out and start for our building when a voice stops me.

“Henry!”

I freeze. It’s the only thing I know how to do when I hear that voice. My shoulders pull in on instinct. Am I dizzy?

“Henry,” my father says again. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Pathetic thing that I am, I do. I turn around to face him. He looks exactly the same. I think about how different Felicity and Mom look now. Do I look any different? My hair’s a bit longer, without him always reminding me to cut it.

“You don’t look nearly as injured as your mother made you out to be,” he says. “She’s overreacting about this all.”

I don’t know what to say. He never talks to me like this. We never _talk_. He scolds me and I agree. I want to run. I should run. I could. But I can’t. I can’t force my limbs to move. I’m stuck in place, staring at him. Why is he here? How did he know where to go?

“She is overreacting. Tell her that this whole divorce is unnecessary. Tell her to call it off.”

“What?” I choke out.

“She’s doing this for your sake, Henry. Make it easier for everyone and tell her to call it off. Don’t let your bad decision complicate the lives of everyone else.”

I want to run, so bad.

“Your mother is making a mistake. You will not make it in this world without me. You need me,” he says. “You are nothing without me. If your mother goes through with her stupid divorce, your lives will be ruined, Henry. It will be all your fault.”

I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’m drowning.

“Are you listening to me?” He demands.

“Yes, sir.” It slips out of me.

“So what are you going to tell your mother?”

“What?”

“Don’t act stupid, Henry,” he says. And he lifts his hand.

My arms fly up before I can even think. It’s like I’m twelve, like I’m fourteen, like I’m fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. It’s every day of my life for years. Every day until I was put in the hospital. Every day until almost a month ago.

How can I go back to this?

He doesn’t hit me, though. I glance back up and he’s staring at me with more disgust than he ever has. But he doesn’t hit me. He shakes his head. My eyes sting and I take a step back. My limbs are obeying me again.

He takes a step towards me and I flinch. Does he smile at that?

I feel trapped, cornered. Then I remember that I’m not. I can run and he can’t follow me forever. There is a boundary. So I bolt. I start running for our apartment, sprinting faster than I ever did in gym class. My father shouts after me and I feel like I might be sick. I run up the stairs to the apartment and hope he doesn’t follow.

The door doesn’t open at first. I struggle with it as usual. But I don’t have the patience for it because I think that my father is following. He’s shouting my name again. I might pass out right here.

I force the door open, run inside, and slam it shut. I lock the door behind me. I lean against it, catching my breath. Then, he starts knocking. I run to the kitchen. I don’t know what to do. It’s not like he can get in, but he’s _out there_ , banging on the door and shouting my name. If he did somehow manage to get in, nothing could save me. I’m panicking.

Finally, the knocking stops. I think he’s giving up. I stand in the kitchen, gripping the counter, staring at the door. I stand there for a long time, waiting. After maybe twenty minutes of silence, a sob rips free. No warning, no preface, I just start sobbing. I take back everything I ever thought or said about a life without my father working out. I will never escape him. He was right, I’m nothing without him. I won’t make it without my father. Maybe for now, but Mom still hasn’t found a job and I’ll have to go to school somehow, for something. What happens when we can’t pay for any of it? What happens when everyone realizes I’m as useless as he always said?

“Fuck!” I shout, without really knowing why. I’m still sobbing. I grab a glass off the counter and hurl it at the wall. As expected, it shatters.

I expect myself to feel horrified, or at least guilty. But I’m not. I feel disconnected, like I’m watching myself do this. I watch myself slide down onto the floor and sob into his knees, not minding the glass nearly as much as he should.

It’s a familiar emptiness, one I have that felt before, that I’ve felt during or after particularly bad interactions with my father. It coats my thoughts in static and everything I do feels sluggish and through a fog. I feel lightheaded.

I should get up. I should clean the glass off the floor. I want a drink. I’m hiccuping. I can’t tell if I’m lightheaded from anxiety or from crying so hard. Why isn’t anyone home yet? Why can’t I get up? God, I need a drink. Or a cigarette. I should text Percy. No, don’t text Percy. I feel like I should text someone. Maybe Richard? I wish Mom kept drinks in this house.

I keep telling myself to get up and clean up the glass and clean up myself and pull it together. But I can’t do any of this. I still feel separate from myself. I just cry. I cry and cry and cry until my eyes are sore and my head aches.

I wake up on the kitchen floor with Mom’s concerned face over me.

“Don’t you scare me like that ever again!” she says. I must have fallen asleep.

“Huh?” I say.

“How do you think I felt walking in to broken glass and my son passed out on the floor?! I wasn’t sure you would wake up!” She looks like she’s about to cry. We’ve all shed too many damn tears in this apartment.

I sit up. There’s still glass on the floor.

“What happened?” Mom asks.

“He was here,” I say.

Her face goes pale. “Did he—?”

“No,” I say. “I made it inside before he could do anything but I . . .” I trail off, staring at the glass. There’s no good way to explain that I threw a glass at the wall.

She frowns deeply, studying my face. “Your eyes are red,” she murmurs. She stands and offers a hand to me. “Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

“What time is it?” I ask as she helps me up.

“A little past seven,” she says.

“Where’s Felicity?”

“She’s in her room. I’ll tell her what happened.”

Mom leads me to my room. “Get some rest, alright?” She doesn’t wait for my answer and closes the door. The room is dark.

I don’t bother with my clothes. I kick off my shoes and collapse into bed. My sleep this time is restless. I can’t get comfortable and when I do fall asleep, I wake up from nightmares that I can’t remember, but it’s always the same one. Or, they’re all about the same thing.

When I wake up again, it’s to a different concerned face. Percy’s.

“Hey, darling,” he says, brushing my hair out of my face.

“Who called you this time?” I ask.

“Eleanor,” he replies with a wry smile.

I hum in response.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I’ve been better.”

Percy laughs dryly. “I know.”

I sit up and scoot over. Taking my silent invitation, Percy slides into bed next to me. He pulls me to his side. He kisses my temple. How many times have we done this in the past month? How many times do I have to fall apart and wait for Percy to pull me together?

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I laugh and it’s an ugly thing. “Absolutely not,” I say. I don’t even want to think about it. I want to get drunk.

Percy hugs me to his side, picking up my pieces. “I know it probably doesn’t mean a lot right now,” he says, “but I love you. And I know this was probably a nightmare, but you’re going to get past it. I know it sounds like motivational bullshit, but you will.”

 _And what if I don’t?_ I want to ask. _What if you’re holding out for something that will never happen? What if I peaked and it only gets worse from here? What if I’m never what you want?_

For a minute, I can see a future with Percy. But not in the idealistic way I usually do. I see a future where he settles for me and I turn into the complete waste of space I was always told I would be. I’m a burden who falls asleep, drunk on the floor. I don’t _want_ that. I want to believe that Percy is right.

“Hey,” Percy murmurs. “Stay with me, Monty.” He nudges my head with his forehead.

I nod because I don’t know how to tell him anything I’m thinking. It would be easier to cut myself open and let him see for himself.

“You want to get something to drink?” Percy offers.

I nod because, yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea. Then I realize he probably means water or something because I have been in and out of consciousness for the past twenty-four hours and am probably dehydrated. Still, I follow him to the kitchen.

Mom is in there. She forces a small smile when she sees me.

“He lives,” Felicity notes from the couch. She’s reading. “I thought you went into a coma.”

“You wish,” I reply.

“Be nice,” Mom scolds.

“This _is_ nice,” Felicity retorts.

Percy pours two glasses of water.

“How are you feeling, Monty?” Mom asks.

“Uh,” I start, leaning against the table. “I had a question, actually.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“When can I start therapy?”

Mom doesn’t waste any time.

The next day, I’m sitting in the waiting room of a therapist’s office. I keep bouncing my legs, trying to pop my joints even after I’ve popped them all. My lips are chewed raw, a new habit I’ve picked up. There are a lot of forms to fill out, mostly about my emotional state. When I finish filling them all out and turn them in, I have to wait for another twenty minutes until I’m called back to see the therapist.

I expect it to be like the movies: beige walls, leather armchair, a couch, a plant. But the therapist’s office is cozy. The walls are a pale purple with various paintings and pictures on them. I sit in a cushioned armchair facing the door and the therapist’s desk. There is still a plant, a few plants, sitting on the windowsill. They each have little name tags and they’re named after authors. There’s a shelf behind the therapist’s desk with various nicknacks and more pictures, even some clearly homemade pottery. There’s a humidifier on the desk shaped like a cat that changes colors.

The therapist herself surprises me a little too. Doctor Mendoza is a tall Latina woman who looks younger than my mother. Her hair is a very faded pink and she wears glasses with a chain. On her desk, there’s a picture of her in a white suit with a short, Asain woman in a wedding dress. She smiles at me when I sit down.

“Good morning, Monty, right?”

I nod.

She nods too. “So, I’ve read over your forms. Of course, I understand that you won’t trust me right away, but it would help me to understand your situation. So would you tell me as much as you’re comfortable?”

I give an abridged explanation of what happened with my father that put me in the hospital and what happened over the past two days. It’s not in-depth, but I don’t leave a lot out. I’m sure she’s heard worse.

Doctor Mendoza maintains a fairly neutral face while I tell it. She frowns here and there, but mostly just nods along. “I see. You said you’ll be getting hearing aids soon?”

“Yeah, next week, I think.”

“That’s good,” she says, then shuffles some papers. “So, Monty, what do you want to get out of therapy?”

“What?” I ask.

“People come to therapy for different reasons. Why are you here?”

I have to think about it for a minute. “I guess pull my life together? Figure things out?”

“Do you feel like this traumatic event has sort of brought your life to a halt?”

“Not exactly,” I say. I hadn’t even really considered this a _traumatic event_. “More like it changed things and I don’t really know what happens now. I never really thought I’d have so many . . . options.”

“Options?” Doctor Mendoza prompts.

“My life was pretty much my father’s decision and now that he’s out of the picture I have to figure things out myself. I don’t really know how to do that.”

“Are you planning to go to college in the fall?”

“Not in the fall,” I say. “I was going to, but after all this, it feels too soon. But maybe the spring semester? I don’t know what I’ll study, though.”

“What were you going to study?”

“Business.”

“Your father’s choice?”

I nod.

“Well, do you have any interests you might like to study?” she asks.

I’m silent for a minute, racking my brain. I don’t know. I suddenly can’t think of any interests that I have.

Doctor Mendoza watches me. When I come up with nothing, she just nods. “Alright, Monty, why don’t you tell me a little more about yourself? Can you tell me the things you like, things you like doing? Maybe some good memories?”

 _Good memories_ . I shuffle through memories of the past few years. It’s a lot of the same. “Uh, I like spending time with my best friend. I used to like parties before my hearing got messed up. I like . . .” I trail off. I’m not sure if drinking would be a smart answer. And I can’t find any good memories that don’t _involve_ Percy. In my mind, the past few years have been a blur of parties, drinking, Percy, and my father. School is here and there.

“Tell me about your best friend.”

“His name is Percy and we grew up together. We were going to go to college together until this all happened. He’s pretty much my only friend. He plays violin and he’s unfairly tall. He’s always here for me, even when I’m being a bit of a douche.”

Doctor Mendoza smiles. “He sounds like a good friend.”

I nod.

“Is there anything else you can think of? Could you tell me about high school? I’m just trying to get to know you a bit better.”

“I . . .” I honestly can’t think of anything. And it scares me. Even though it was only my first two years, all I remember clearly about high school is boarding school. I remember Sinjon and hooking up with him. I remember my expulsion and the days that followed. I remember, vaguely, falling into the party scene here. But there are large gaps, days, holidays I can’t remember. I try to remember my seventeenth birthday and nothing comes. “I don’t know,” I say. I sound like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me. I’ve never really realized how many gaps there are. I never realized how much I’ve forgotten trying to forget my father.

“I understand,” Doctor Mendoza says. “Sometimes, when we experience trauma, our brains try to lock it away. The brain locks away memories related to the trauma, sometimes even unrelated ones. Sometimes even memories just around the same time. I think that might be what’s happened to you.”

“Does it–will they come back?” I ask. I hope she doesn’t hear how my voice wobbles.

“Maybe, if you push for them. I don’t want you to be too worried about that right now, though. I understand that it can be scary.”

I nod, mutely. I feel like I’m having some sort of crisis. I feel like I don’t know who I am, like I know even less than I did before.

“You have a lot on your plate in front of you. But the recovery process isn’t going to be linear and we’re going to take it slow. I’m going to give you a little therapy homework, alright?” Doctor Mendoza asks.

“Sure,” I say, still trying to find my footing again.

“I want you to take pictures,” she says. “Take pictures of anything and everything that makes you happy. I think that it will help you, when looking back, to have pictures of the things you like. It will, maybe, help with the memory gaps you’re facing and how to prevent them in the future. And, most importantly, I want you to focus on the things you take pictures of. If you want to show them to me, that’s great. If not, that’s great too. These are for you.”

I nod. That seems simple enough. “I’ll try.”

The morning that I’m due to see Doctor Robles, I’m awake early. I can’t tell if it’s anxiety or excitement, but something keeps me from sleeping. I go to the kitchen to get cereal and Felicity is sitting on the couch, book in her lap.

“What are you doing up already?” I ask.

“I never sleep very late,” Felicity says.

That feels like something I should know so I don’t say anything.

“Why are you up? You’re never up before noon.”

“I resent that,” I say, pulling a box of Cocoa Puffs down from the cabinet. I pour cereal and milk into a bowl before joining her on the couch. I study her for a second. “You know, I really do like your hair like that.” When Mom saw Felicity’s hair, she literally almost fainted. She was sad about Felicity “ruining her gorgeous hair” but she wasn’t really mad.

Felicity looks up from her book and narrows her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“What?” I ask.

“You’re being nice to me. Why are you being nice to me?”

I sigh. “Fine, you caught me. Doctor Mendoza says I have too many—” I make air quotes—“‘unresolved strains on my relationships’ so I’m resolving them. Or, trying to, anyway.”

Felicity stares at me a moment longer like she’s looking for some sign that I’m being serious. When she appears to be satisfied, a corner of her mouth lifts. “So, how’s therapy going?”

“Good,” I say, and it’s true. I think it’s going well. I’ve only been to see Doctor Mendoza twice, once a week, but I think I’m going to stick with it for a while. It’s almost nice to have someone tell me to get my shit together in a professional way and I can’t even be offended because it’s her job to tell me that.

“That’s good,” Felicity says. She turns back to her book. My sister, the conversationalist.

“What are you reading?” I ask. I’m genuinely curious.

She gives me the same face she did when I complimented her.

I raise my hands in surrender. “I was just asking! You’re always reading.”

Felicity looks like she’s mulling something over. “Promise that you won’t make fun of me.”

“What?”

“Promise, Henry!” she says. “And I don’t just mean now, I mean always. You can’t bring this up again later when we’re arguing.”

I raise my right hand. “I swear that I won’t make fun of you about this one thing, now or ever,” I say flatly.

Felicity nods like she’s satisfied with that. Then, she flips the book over.

“A medical journal?” I ask. “Why are you reading a medical journal?”

“I want to be a doctor,” Felicity says, quietly.

“You do?” It feels like another thing that I should have known.

She nods.

“Why would I make fun of you for that?”

“I thought you would think it was stupid. Like it was some childhood fantasy or something,” she mutters.

I shrug. “At least you have an idea of what you want,” I say. “I think you’ll make a good doctor, Feli.”

Felicity makes a face. “I know you’re trying to be more mentally stable and such but I don’t think I can handle you being _this_ nice to me all the time.”

“Good, me neither,” I admit. “Can we settle for an uneasy alliance?”

Felicity laughs. “Uneasy alliance,” she agrees.

When Doctor Robles hands me the hearing aids, I almost don’t put them on. I’m scared, more scared than I’d like to admit. Percy, Felicity, and Mom are all watching me, wearing matching hesitant smiles.

Doctor Robles helps me put them on and if they work, I can’t tell because the room is so silent.

“Well?” Felicity breaks the silence. Her voice sounds less restrained than before but—

“Get on my deaf side,” I say quickly.

Felicity hops up and comes to my other side before repeating herself. A surprised laugh escapes me. It doesn’t sound the same, obviously. It’s a little disconcerting to see Felicity talking at my right and hear her in my left ear, but I can _hear her_. I don’t even have to turn my head.

It’s only been a little more than a month since I lost my hearing, and it isn’t like I didn’t miss it, but I didn’t realize just how much I _did_.

“You can hear me?” Felicity asks.

I nod, grinning. Felicity grins too. “Perce, take a picture of this,” I say, tossing my phone to him. Percy knows about Doctor Mendoza’s assignment. There are more pictures of him than I’d care to admit.

Percy does. Then he hugs me. It’s almost too tight to breathe but I don’t mind it one bit. When he thinks no one is looking, he kisses my cheek.

Mom sees us but she doesn’t say anything. She catches my eyes and gives me a half-smile. She did ask about Percy after my semi-coming out. I told her that we’re just friends because I figured that this not-quite-boyfriends stage doesn’t include telling our parents. Although, right now, I want to. I want to tell them about me and Percy. I want to tell the whole world, and be able to hear it too.


	3. part three: gold flakes

[ **fic playlist!** ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0iqi50kflDdMjt7nQtBTxx?si=vyozzXe9RtKzn9Kp1LP3AA)

**percy**

When I start playing, you can tell I’m a little out of practice. I’ve been so busy with Monty lately that I let myself fall behind on practicing. I leave for college in less than a month and violin is about to get a lot more important. I need to get back to a schedule. I’m a really good player, I don’t mind admitting it. But I’m going to have to start getting better than _really good._ Yet everything I play today just sounds _off_. After about a half-hour of practicing, I stop. My phone vibrates.

**Monty: ,,,thoughts??**

**Monty: [image attachment]**

I open our messages and look at the picture. It’s Monty. He’s wearing makeup. It’s obviously his first attempt but it’s still good, in my unprofessional opinion. He’s wearing gold eyeshadow and his eyeliner is really, _really_ sharp.

**Percy: Your eyeliner could impale me**

**Monty: thats sort of the desired effect**

**Percy: Then it’s perfect**

**Percy: When did you get makeup??**

It’s been a few days since Monty got his hearing aids and he’s been in a good mood about it. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and something to ruin it, but it’s been stable. He has a long way to go, but I think that therapy is working wonders for him.

**Monty: yesterday**

**Monty: i was running errands and i figured why not**

**Percy: Running errands???? That sounds like work??? I didn’t know you were capable of work**

**Monty: har har**

**Monty: seriously though what do you think???**

**Percy: I really like it. It suits you**

**Monty: felicity asked me what my drag name is going to be**

**Monty: im thinking something classy like evangeline jade**

**Monty: ambrosia flawless**

**Percy: Foxxy Danger**

**Percy: Thirsty D. Lite**

**Monty: fuck you**

**Percy: Love you too**

**Monty: you can’t hear me but im muttering behind your back**

**Percy: Of course you are**

When the conversation lags, I ask the question I’ve been waiting to.

**Percy: What does your mom think?**

My parents were supportive when I first came out as gay. Probably _overly_ supportive. They struggled but not in the way most parents do. I think my dad just wasn’t sure how to handle it, at first. It was like he read the Wikihow article _How To Bond With Your Gay Son_ and tried to follow it exactly. I think he expected me to start exploring things like makeup and nails like Monty has. I thought I had to, at first. I sort of panicked. I knew I liked Monty, I’d crushed on other boys before. I thought maybe I just hadn’t found a girl I liked yet. But when I was fourteen, my parents asked about anyone I liked and I sort of broke. I started crying and told them everything about liking boys and liking Monty.

Monty told me about his coming out to his mom. It’s great that she seems supportive, but we don’t know how much. You can be homophobic and still not want your kid to be beaten up almost daily for it. And if she really isn’t homophobic, it raises a lot more questions about why she let things go on for so long the way that they did.

But I don’t ask any of _that_. It’s their family business and if Monty wants to tell me, he will. More realistically, if Monty knew, he would have told me by now.

**Monty: haven’t shown her**

I notice he doesn’t add a _yet_ to that.

**Monty: do you wanna go to the mall tomorrow or something?**

**Percy: ??**

**Monty: im supposed to be “reorienting” myself with my hearing aids by being around people and i dont want to go alone**

**Percy: Sure, my mom has been harassing me about buying new clothes for college anyway**

**Monty: i’ll come get you at 11?**

**Percy: Sounds good**

The next day, Monty and I walk through the mall together. We got Great American Cookies on our way in and I think it’s been my best idea all week.

Monty asked me to walk on his right side so he could get more used to hearing with the aid. He also asked for me to talk facing forwards like I usually would to see how well he could adjust to it, but I can’t stop staring at him. He’s wearing makeup again and it looks _really_ good. But Monty also just looks happier. I think it’s partially the makeup, both literally and emotionally, that’s making him seem brighter. But I think he’s also just getting better. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the inevitable plummet. It feels too good to be true: a happy and safe Monty. I don’t know what god I appeased to be blessed like this, but I’m not going to waste it.

Monty catches on eventually. “Why do you keep staring at me like that?” he asks.

“You just . . . look good.”

Monty grins. “If I knew it was this easy to get your attention, I would have done it years ago,” he says.

“You’ve had my attention for years.”

Monty’s smile turns into a soft, private thing. “You were good at hiding it,” he mutters.

I nudge him. “Or maybe you were just too oblivious.”

“I resent that!” Monty says, laughing. He takes my hand. “I consider myself a master of seduction.”

My brain stalls for a long moment. He’s _holding my hand._ In _public_. I didn’t know being not-quite-boyfriends allowed this. Monty doesn’t seem fazed, though, so I form a response. “I’ve seen too many of your weird phases as a kid to ever be seduced by you, darling.”

Monty wrinkles his nose at me. “Unfair.”

“Honest,” I correct him.

Monty makes a show of pouting. I lean over to kiss his cheek, and he stops.

“Fine, maybe you’re a little seductive.”

We’re in an Urban Outfitters and Monty turns to me, holding the most garish shirt I’ve ever seen. “What do you think?” he asks.

“I think it looks like a bowling alley floor,” I say. It’s a short-sleeved button-up and it’s so colorful that it almost gives me a headache.

“Then I’m buying it.” He pulls out his phone to take a picture of it. Poor Doctor Mendoza’s eyes.

“You're leaning really hard into this whole off-brand Elton John thing.”

“Damn right.”

Before I can reply, another voice cuts in. “Montague? I thought you were dead.”

It’s Richard _fucking_ Peele.

Monty looks like he’s about to commit homicide. “Well, I’m not.”

Richard looks Monty up and down. His eyes settle on Monty’s face, then his hearing aid. I can’t read his face but he doesn’t look very concerned. “You know, you looked better without the makeup,” he says.

“Really? I thought you only liked to look at me when I had my mouth around yo—” I put my hand over Monty’s mouth before he can finish that sentence.

“Do not start a fight you can’t win,” I mutter. 

Richard laughs. _Laughs,_ the bastard. “So you both went full-on fag?” He gestures to Monty’s hearing aid. “Is that how you ended up with that—”

I practically throw myself at him. I am not a violent person, for the record. But Richard just crossed _two_ lines in one breath. I couldn’t just stand there. I don’t even get the chance to swing at him though because Monty grabs me by my arms and hauls me back.

“What happened to not starting a fight you can’t win?” Monty says, pulling me away. He’s also still holding that damn shirt.

Richard is _still_ laughing. He’s laughing even harder now. He doesn’t stop laughing until an employee comes over and asks all of us to leave or she’ll have to call security. None of us put up much of a fight. Monty asks if he can buy the shirt first and the girl begrudgingly agrees as long as Richard and I leave now.

I go outside to wait for Monty and Richard follows.

“Really, though, what happened to him?” he asks. My glare must convey my feelings well enough because he raises his hands in surrender. “What? I’m just asking.”

“It’s not really your business,” I say because I don’t want to get into a fight _in front of_ an Urban Outfitters anymore than I want to get into a fight _inside_ of one.

“I can’t just ask after a friend?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call you and Monty _friends_.”

Richard shrugs. “I could say the same for you.”

 _What’s that supposed to mean?_ I want to ask. But I don’t because Monty is leaving the store. “Just fuck off, Richard,” I say.

“Fine, fine, I’m going,” Richard says, backing away. 

Monty walks up to my side. “What did Richard want?”

“He was just being an ass.”

“As usual.”

I nod. “I think, on that note, we should leave.”

“I’ve got my bowling alley floor shirt. I’m happy.”

I roll my eyes. “I can’t believe that you actually bought that thing.”

Monty just grins at me.

We leave the mall, complaining about Richard the entire time. Once we’re outside, Monty says, “I just really hate Richard Peele.”

Of course, I have to respond. “WE HATE RICHARD PEELE!”

Monty starts giggling like he always does when we do this. “I really wouldn’t have minded letting you fight him.”

“It wouldn’t have ended well.”

“No,” Monty agrees. “But it was kind of hot, watching you get all worked up in my defense.” He’s still grinning with those fucking dimples. I stammer because I don’t have a response to that. We get to the car and Monty turns so that my back is against the car and he’s pressed against me. “You’re too tall,” he mutters, setting our bags on the ground.

I have to bend over a little to nudge his nose with mine. “Is it interfering with your plans?” I ask.

“Very much, yes,” Monty says. He reaches up and winds his fingers in my hair before pulling me down into a kiss.

Monty is _experienced_ . It shouldn’t have surprised me the first time that we kissed and it definitely shouldn’t surprise me now. But it’s obvious that Monty knows what he’s doing. It makes me a little light-headed if I’m honest. To be making out with Monty in a parking lot. Poor little fourteen-year-old Percy would lose his _mind_. Monty is still holding me by the back of the head, his other hand on my cheek. Mine are on his hips. He kisses me until I’m gasping. I’m absolutely wrecked by him and he knows it, fucking dimples. He kisses my nose.

I think about how I told Monty we should wait, that we should take steps, that we could be not-quite-boyfriends. And I still wouldn’t exactly call us boyfriends. But I think I was kidding myself when I said we should take things slow. Henry Montague doesn’t know how to do anything without extremities. Henry Montague is like the sun at my grandparent’s house in Louisiana. For one week during the summer, usually just after school lets out, Mama and I go to visit her parents. Nothing can prepare you for the Louisiana sun in June. It’s intense and dazzling and bright and if you spend too much time in it you get burned. (“Jesus Christ, child, you burn like your daddy.”) But it’s also probably the best sunshine in the country. Everything looks golden-hued and beautiful, vivid. When the sun starts to set it’s warm and calming and we would sit on the porch for hours until it got dark and we couldn’t stand the mosquitoes anymore.

I think loving Monty was as inevitable as loving the sun in the south, burns and all.

I’m still packing the day before I’m supposed to leave for college like the slacker I am. Mama is helping me, so we’re listening to Dolly Parton.

“I don’t know how you’ll make it through college when you procrastinate like this,” she says.

“I’ve been busy,” I say in defense.

Mama tsks at me. “How will you survive without me, Percy?”

“I think I’ll manage, Mama.”

Before she can reply, I’m distracted by my phone going off.

**Monty: you leave tomorrow right?**

**Percy: Yeah and I’m still packing**

**Monty: shame**

**Percy: Not you too! I’m already getting that from my mom**

**Monty: you deserve it**

**Monty: when will you be done?**

**Percy: Probably this afternoon?**

**Monty: could i come to your house tonight then?**

**Percy: My dad is coming over for dinner tonight so if you want to come after? I know you’re afraid of him**

**Monty: i am n o t afraid of your dad**

**Percy: Sure**

**Monty: but i will be coming after dinner**

That night, my parents make dinner together. I’m forbidden from helping because it’s in my honor.

Watching my parents laughing and cooking, I can almost see a life where things were different and my parents were together. I’m not bitter or upset that they never were. My parents always made things as normal as possible for me. They never fought or made a big deal about them not being together. My parents get along better than most married parents that I know. Once when I was a kid, I asked Mama why she and Dad never married. She said that even though they loved each other, they didn’t love each other in that way.

“Your daddy and I are best friends, Percy,” she had said. “We just couldn’t see ourselves as husband and wife. We knew it wouldn’t have worked. It was better for both of us and for you that we made things work as we do instead of forcing ourselves to be something we aren’t. Neither of us ever found someone we wanted to marry, but we couldn’t have married each other.”

I could see myself getting married to Monty, in a distant future. I kind of like the idea of growing old with him, the whole domestic package. That’s not even something I’ve seriously considered though, and probably won’t for a long time. But I’m okay with that. I never even thought I would get this far.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts when Mama pulls me from my seat. She starts dancing with me and I follow her lead, laughing. She put on country music again while they were cooking. (Dad used to joke that Mama’s love for country music was the reason he wouldn’t marry her.)

Dad is laughing too, stirring the pot of chicken and dumplings they’ve been making. Maybe this is the domestic package. Maybe one day I’ll get to dance with Monty in a kitchen surrounded by family, or maybe it’ll be just us. Maybe there will be kids, maybe there won’t. It used to be just a lofty fantasy but, even if it still is one, it’s one that I want.

Dinner with my parents is good. There’s a lot of talk about their college days. Lots of _don’t do what I did_ and _don’t do what I wouldn’t do_ . I think they gear up for a _don’t get someone pregnant_ talk before realizing who they’re talking to. Which leads into a conversation topic I didn’t really want to get into.

“So, Percy,” Dad starts, “how’s Monty doing?”

“He’s doing good,” I say.

“He’s not starting college this semester, is he?” Mama asks. I mentioned it to her once.

“No, I don’t know when he will. But they thought it would be best to wait,” I say.

Mama nods. “I bet, after all that boy’s been through.”

I make a face.

“Any news on his father?” Mama asks.

I shake my head. “Probably not until the trial.”

“Are you . . . _going_ to the trial?” Dad asks.

“I have to.”

He frowns. “Why?”

I pause before answering. “I’m testifying.”

“Percy—” Mama starts, but I cut her off.

“Legal adult!” I interject, reminding her that she can’t stop me.

“That’s just . . . a lot of responsibility on you. Is it really our business?” she asks, gently.

“It may not be yours, but it’s mine. I’ve had to watch what happened to Monty for years and not be able to say anything. Monty’s mom asked me to testify for his sake because I’m the only one who can. If I said no, I would be betraying Monty and the rest of his family.”

Dad reaches out and puts his hand over mine. “I’m proud of you for doing this, Percy. Monty is lucky to have you.”

When dinner is almost done, I sneak a text to Monty.

**Percy: Almost done with dinner if you want to start heading over here**

**Monty: on my way**

“Come on, college man,” Dad says, patting my shoulder. “Help with the dishes.”

Dad and I wash the dishes (by hand because Mama refuses to buy a dishwasher) and Mama puts them away. When we’re almost done, the doorbell rings. I run to get it.

“Hey,” I say, opening the door for Monty. “You’re just in time, actually.”

“Just in time for board games!” Mama calls from the kitchen.

Monty frowns and mouths _board games?_ I shrug.

Mama and Dad come from the kitchen and lead us to the living room. Mama goes to the cabinets under the TV and pulls out a Scrabble board. Dad stands next to us, awkwardly. He stares at Monty and Monty stares at his feet. Dad doesn’t _dislike_ Monty, exactly, but he doesn’t like Monty either. He used to think Monty was trouble because of all the stuff he got involved with. But right now, it’s obvious that Dad just pities him.

Mama sets the Scrabble board on the coffee table and pulls out four floor pillows. I pull Monty to sit on one next to me with Mama on his other side. This puts him face-to-face with Dad; he just can’t win in this situation.

“I figured we’d have one last family game night before you go off to college,” Mama says. Family game nights used to be a big deal when I was younger. Whenever Mama would drop me off at Dad’s for the weekend, we would play board games that night until Mama went back home. They got a little less frequent as I got older and we haven’t had one in a while.

“Oh,” I say, “thanks, Mama.”

She smiles. “Do you know how to play Scrabble, Monty?” she asks, turning to look at Monty. She’s trying so hard to treat this like it’s normal. She’s trying so hard to act like the sight of Monty—with his hearing aid, tired eyes, and lips gnawed to hell (a very new nervous habit of his)—doesn’t make her want to cry. But every time we talk about him, it always circles back to _that poor boy_.

Monty shakes his head. “I’ve never played before.”

“ _What?_ ” Dad asks, a little too loudly. Monty flinches a little and Dad softens his voice. “How have you never played Scrabble?”

Monty shrugs. He looks a little cowed. It’s strange, to see Monty like this. He’s nervous and I don’t know if it’s because he’s around parents or if it’s because they’re _my_ parents.

“That’s fine,” Mama cuts in. “We can play in teams so Percy can help you.”

I scoot over so Monty can sit on the same side as me. Dad moves to sit next to Mama. I take Monty’s hand under the table so that my parents can’t see. He smiles.

Mama sets up the board and I run Monty through an abridged version of the rules. When we start playing, it becomes pretty obvious that we’ll win, which is a first for me. Dad is a master as Scrabble but Monty is _better_. He’s going to have such a big head about it, but I’m glad that he’s enjoying himself.

“That is _not_ a word,” Dad protests, even though he and Mama are far behind.

“It’s totally a word,” Monty replies evenly.

“ _Defenestrate_ is not a word!” Dad says.

Monty turns to me. “Percy, darling, would you google that for me?”

I nod because I’m laughing too hard to answer. I pull out my phone and look up ‘defenestrate’ and it is, indeed, a word. I hand my phone to Monty, who holds it triumphantly in front of Dad. “Read ‘em and weep!” he says.

By the end of the game, Mama and Dad lose pretty badly. Monty is ridiculously proud of himself for leading us to victory. When no one is paying much attention, he takes a picture of the board. It’s kind of nice to watch Monty do this, knowing that he’s happy and seeing what makes him happy. It’s like getting to see a little part of his mind.

“Good game, boys,” Mama says, standing. “I’m tired from all of the manual labor that Percy put me through today, so I’m heading to bed.” She kisses mine and Dad’s foreheads and gives Monty’s shoulder a squeeze—which surprises him—before retreating to her room.

Dad shoos us up to my room. When we get there, Monty flops back onto my bed, which is stripped just to its sheets, one pillow, and a blanket.

“Your parents are . . . nice,” he says.

“You say that like you’ve never met them before,” I say, flopping next to him.

Monty shrugs. “I don’t interact with them much. They’re really nice, though. I can see why you’re kind of crazy about them.”

I laugh a little. “I mean, they are my parents. How could I not be?”

Monty looks up at me with a sad smile and I realize how stupid I sound.

“Sorry,” I say, “I didn’t mean it like—”

Monty waves a hand. “It’s fine. You should be crazy about them. They’re really cool.”

I nod. I know I’m really lucky to have a family like mine, as unconventional as it is. I’m lucky to have parents that love me and love each other, which is a sad statement.

“Play something for me.”

“What?”

Monty points at my violin case, which is leaning against the wall with all of my other luggage. “Play something for me. You’re leaving _tomorrow_ to be a _music_ major, aren’t you?”

“How much will you pay?”

“My eternal love and affection,” Monty says, then plants a kiss on my cheek.

I make a point of muttering but I get up and take out my violin. Monty watches me, a small smile on his face. I warm up and start playing a song I’ve been learning for myself. It’s a Florence + The Machine song, _Dog Days Are Over_. Monty doesn’t like Florence, but he probably doesn’t recognize the song. I haven’t practiced this song in a while since my practices haven’t been going all that well lately, but right now it’s going fine. Maybe even more than fine.

When I finish, Monty gives me a standing ovation. “Wonderful, darling,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “Happy now?” I ask, putting my violin away.

Monty nods. He gets up and steps close to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He frowns up at me. “Kissing you is hard when you’re this tall.”

“So you’ve said,” I say. Then, I pick Monty up by his thighs. He laughs and moves his hold to my neck.

“You could have been doing this the whole time?” he asks.

“I wasn’t sure I could do it,” I admit. Monty is lighter than he looks, which is saying a lot.

“I feel like I should be offended by that,” Monty says.

I shrug. “I think it’s more a testament to my upper body strength than your weight.”

“You’re not exactly Dwayne Johnson, Perce.”

“I can still drop you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

I act like I’m going to drop him, just to scare him, but Monty tightens his legs around my hips. “Percy Newton!” I laugh and Monty swats at my chest. “You could have actually dropped me, asshole!”

“You would’ve survived.”

Monty pouts.

“Should I set you down then?”

“Well, let’s not be hasty.”

I scoff and go to set him on my bed but Monty doesn’t let go of me, pulling me down on top of him. His legs are still around my hips. He’s smiling and his nose is pressed against mine.

“If you wanted to kiss me, you could have just asked,” I say, though it’s nearly muffled by his lips anyway.

“This is more fun, though,” Monty replies. He kisses me, fingers in my hair. He really likes playing with my hair, though that isn’t new. 

This is a kiss a lot like the one in the parking lot at the mall two weeks ago. It’s heady and hungry, though a little slower. Slowly I stretch out until Monty and I are properly wrapped up in each other. Monty pushes me onto my back, still kissing me like it’s all he needs to survive. He’s on top of me now, doing something with his hand in my hair that makes me feel a little dizzy. His other hand is sliding up my shirt.

“Can I?” he asks against my mouth, tracing circles on my hip.

I nod. It’s times like these that the phrase _too gay to function_ takes on a whole new meaning. I’m breathless. I don’t trust myself to form coherent sentences.

Monty pulls my shirt over my head and the way he looks at me makes me feel like something treasured. We’ve seen each other naked before but it feels different now, and we’re not even fully naked.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re gorgeous?” Monty murmurs, hands on my waist.

I shake my head, still hardly able to produce words. It’s a stark reminder of how well-versed in this Monty is. He’s calm, gentle. He knows exactly what he’s doing. I feel in over my head but in a good way. I feel exposed, completely under Monty’s control. He has my heart in his hands right now to do whatever he wants with. But I know he’ll treat it like it’s fragile. It’s not. I have loved Monty for years and my heart knows how to take a few hits. But now that it’s his, openly and wholly his? I trust that he’ll take care of it.

“Well, then I’m proud to be the first.” Monty takes off his shirt and then he’s back to kissing me.

“Wait, wait,” I say, putting a hand on his chest.

Monty pulls back. “Sorry,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just . . . let’s not go farther than this? Right now?” I say. If my brain shortcircuits right now, I don’t think I could handle _sex_ with Monty. And this isn’t exactly how I would imagine my first time. I don’t want rose petals and wine or anything, but in my childhood bedroom with my mom downstairs? Not ideal.

“Yeah, of course,” Monty says. He doesn’t seem bothered by it which, I’m ashamed to admit, surprises me a little. He just looks at me, evenly.

“Well, don’t _stop_ ,” I say, and pull him back in. I can feel his smile against my lips.

I want to make the most of this. Monty is very in his element right now. He’s happy and I’m happy and we’re together. I know I won’t get him like this for a while. I won’t get the safe, content Monty that’s really trying to get better in my arms for a while. When I come back for the trial in a month and a half, Monty will be nothing short of a mess. He’ll have every right to be, but it will still hurt. The next time I see Monty, he will be a completely different Monty than he is right now. He’ll be the Monty I knew in high school, hiding in his father’s shadow. So I’ll just have to cherish the Monty I have now while he’s mine.

In the morning, Mama makes breakfast for us. She keeps giving Monty and I a look. I haven’t told her about Monty and I’s semi-relationship because of how complicated things have been but I guess she figured things out. I’m not sure how. Monty is the master of poker faces so it must be something about mine. When I get coffee for both of us, I lean over to her.

“Why are you looking at us like that?” I ask.

Mama shrugs. “You’re nineteen.”

 _“Mama,”_ I say firmly.

She smirks and kisses my cheek. “Just make sure you’re being safe.” She leaves me to sit at the table.

It takes me a few minutes to recover my appetite.

I bring our coffees back to the table and sit next to Monty.

“If it’s any consolation,” he says, “my mom knows too.”

“Why would that be consoling?” I ask.

Monty shrugs. “We’re not subtle.”

“Please,” Mama says, waving a hand. “I’ve seen this coming for _years_.”

Monty laughs while I bury my face in my hands. This isn’t how I imagined telling Mama that Monty and I are finally together.

Monty plants a kiss on my cheek. “Cheer up, Perce, or I’m going to eat your bacon.”

“Don’t you dare.”

After breakfast, we load my bags into my car. Then, goodbyes. I’m not good at goodbyes. But it’s not like I’ll be gone forever. I’m only about two hours away and I’ll be back in less than two months for a few days. But there’s still something about leaving home for a long time. I’m sure it’s a natural feeling.

Would Monty have felt like this? Will he?

Right now, Monty is smiling. It’s a fake smile but he’s trying. He keeps his distance while I hug Mama and Dad. Mama kisses my face a lot. Dad hugs me so tight that I think I feel something crack. They give me the standard going-off-to-college advice and tell me how much they love me and how proud of me they are. Then, Mama basically drags Dad inside, leaving me and Monty alone outside.

Monty’s still giving me that fake smile. It makes me both proud of him and sad at the same time. This was supposed to be both of us leaving. But he’s trying so hard to be happy for me. The last time we spent so long apart was when Monty went to boarding school.

I pull him into a hug and hold him there for a long time.

“Think you’ll survive without me?” I say.

I can’t tell if he laughs or sobs. “Stop it.”

“What?” I ask, my chin resting on top of his head.

“Don’t get all emotional on me or else I’ll have to get emotional.”

“I think I’m allowed to get a little sappy,” I say, then kiss the crown of his head.

“I think not,” Monty says. “If you keep talking I’ll just have to keep you here. Hide you in the basement.”

“You don’t have a basement.”

“I’ll make it work.”

“This is getting scarily close to _Fifty Shades_ territory.”

Monty laughs and pushes me away. “Shut up,” he says.

“I’ll see you in two months, though. Think you’ll be able to handle it?”

“Worry about yourself, Newton. I’ll be fine. I have . . . Felicity.”

“I give you three days before she gets sick of you.”

“She’s always sick of me.”

“Three days before she tries to kill you then.”

“I’ll still text you from beyond the grave.”

“You need a hobby.”

Monty wrinkles his nose. “Isn’t annoying you more than enough?”

“You need _another_ hobby.”

“I’ll figure something out.” Monty closes the distance between us again and kisses me, a lot like the kiss in his room. Could we really have been doing this for years?

“Break it up, boys!” Dad calls from the house, causing us to jump apart and my cheeks to burn. “It’s time for Percy to get going.”

Settling in at college is surprisingly easy. My suitemate, Ebrahim, and I get along. We don’t see each other very often because of our classes but he’s a good suitemate.

Classes are going well. They keep me pretty busy. I play my violin a lot more than I used to which is really nice. I don’t really go to parties because flashing lights and epilepsy do not mix. I still text Monty every day. Some days I only text him a few times, some days it’s long conversations. Every other weekend, we call each other and watch the worst-looking movie we can find on Netflix. We’re supposed to be doing that right now, but Monty isn’t answering my texts.

**Percy: Monty**

**Percy: Monty**

**Percy: Monty**

**Percy: MONTY MONTAGUE**

**Monty: jesus i’m here**

**Percy: Where??? Have you been?????**

**Monty: watching the bachelorette with feli**

**Percy: Huh???**

**Monty: hate watching******

**Percy: Since when do you two hate-watch The Bachelorette?**

**Monty: i got really bored being a shut-in and feli was hate watching the bachelorette so i asked her if i could join and she said yes but we missed it earlier this week so we were watching it tonight**

**Monty: we just watch it and drag the contestants the whole time but ESPECIALLY dragging each other’s favorites**

**Monty: there is betting involved**

**Percy: I kind of want in on this**

**Monty: when you visit you can sit in on bachelorette night**

**Percy: Honored**

I’m in a lecture one day when Monty texts me. He usually doesn’t text me when he knows I’m in class, so I check because it’s probably important.

**Monty: I GOT A CAT**

Maybe not so important. But I’m curious, so I reply.

**Percy: You got???? A cat????**

**Monty: [image attachment]**

It’s a little tabby cat, missing an eye and a leg.

**Percy: Name??**

**Monty: not sure yet**

**Percy: You should name it Crookshanks**

**Monty: nerd**

**Monty: get outta here with your harry potter references**

**Percy: Fine, what are you going to name it?**

**Monty: how about,,,,yardstick**

**Percy: Yardstick??????**

**Monty: cuz she has three feet**

**Percy: .**

**Percy: I’m breaking up with you**

**Monty: :(**

**Monty: it’s okay yardstick will keep me company**

**Percy: Are you ACTUALLY going to name her that?**

**Monty: yes and you shouldn’t bully our daughter, percy**

**Percy: I did NOT sign up for this**

**Monty: it’s me and the cat or nothing**

**Percy: FINE**

**Monty: [image attachment]**

**Monty: tell yardstick you love her**

**Percy: I love you Yardstick**

**Monty: thank u for being a good father**

School goes on and the closer the trial gets, the more nervous I get. I leave in two days and I’m excited to see Monty again but everything else just makes me want to hide under my covers and never come out. But I have to do this for Monty.

I think Monty is pretty scared too. We don’t really talk about it. We haven’t been talking as much as we usually do, these past two weeks or so. I still get daily Yardstick updates. Yardstick has her own Instagram now. Monty has developed a bit of an obsession with Instagram. His account is all makeup and nails. He has quite the following. It’s strangely impressive.

But I still hear from him less. He sleeps in late every day, later than he did during the summer, and sometimes he’ll go silent for hours at a time. Some days, even though I hear from him, I do most of the talking. I get it, though, he’s freaked out about the trial. I haven’t pushed him about it. I haven’t heard from him yet today but it’s already noon so I’ll probably text him soon.

Ebrahim pokes his head in. “Hey, Perce,” he says, then stops and sees me packing. “Oh, you’re visiting your boyfriend next week, aren’t you?” he asks.

Monty technically still isn’t my boyfriend but I don’t correct him. “Yeah, just for a few days. I’m leaving Monday.”

Ebrahim nods. “Well, I just came to tell you that I’m ordering pizza if you want some.”

“Please,” I say. Ebrahim gets my pizza order and I give him money for the pizza and he goes to his room to order it. Since I’m at a stopping point in packing, I go to text Monty.

**Percy: It’s almost one**

**Percy: Are you still asleep?**

**Monty: well now i’m not**

**Percy: College is going to break you**

**Monty: i’ll just take late classes**

**Monty: modern problems require modern solutions**

**Percy: Keep telling yourself that**

**Monty: [image attachment]**

**Monty: our daughter wants to know when you’re coming to see us**

**Percy: I told you I’ll be there Monday**

**Percy: Also is Yardstick wearing a sweater????**

**Monty: maybe**

**Percy: Where did you even get a cat sweater?**

**Monty: you can find them online**

**Percy: You do a lot of impulse shopping for someone without a job**

**Monty: this wasn’t an impulse it was caring for our child**

**Percy: I really wish you would stop calling her that**

**Monty: the cat and me or nothing!!!**

**Percy: I’m going to finish packing now**

**Monty: yes do that**

That Monday, I drive back home. First, I visit my parents. Dad doesn’t keep me for very long, he just gives me a hug and asks a few general questions about school, makes me promise that I’ll go out to eat with him and Mama before I leave again. Mama holds me hostage for about half an hour, talking about school and the Montagues. When it’s all done, she sends me on my way with a gallon of her homemade sweet tea for Monty’s family. I don’t even know if they drink iced tea but you don’t say no to Mama’s tea. On my way to Monty’s apartment, I stop by the grocery store and buy him a bag of kettle corn, and then I’m on my way again. When I get there, I decide that I’ll come back for my luggage. The current objective is seeing Monty.

After climbing decidedly too many stairs (and dreading having to drag my suitcase up them later), I find Monty’s apartment and knock on the door. A few minutes later, the door opens and there’s Monty. Before I get the chance to say anything, he all but tackles me in a hug.

“The father of my child has returned!” he says.

“Oh my god,” I groan. “Never mind, I’m not giving you your present.”

This gets his attention. “A present, you say?”

“Yes, but you have to go back down to my car with me.”

“You didn’t bring more than one suitcase, right?”

“No, but I don’t want to climb the stairs a second time alone.”

Monty snorts but he follows me down anyway. While we walk he takes a picture of me. I’m used to it at this point. Monty really seems to enjoy the “assignment” from Doctor Mendoza. He takes a lot of pictures of me. I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me very happy to know that I make Monty so happy. Besides, the pictures are just for Monty. 

“You’re in luck tonight, Perce,” Monty says.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s Bachelorette night.”

“This is going to be the highlight of coming to see you.”

“What about meeting our daughter?” Monty asks, affronted.

I shrug. “Close second.”

Monty scoffs but when I bring out the kettle corn, his eyes light up. 

“Your present,” I say.

“You treat me so well, darling,” he says. He takes the kettle corn but sets it aside so he can kiss me, pulling me down by the back of my neck. I’m not mad about it.

When we carry everything back up (jug of tea included), Monty leads me to his room. There, in a box with a blanket in it, is Yardstick. She looks very content in her sweater. Monty scoops her up and Yardstick doesn’t even open her eyes, just makes herself comfortable in Monty’s arms. “Our child,” he says.

I scratch Yardstick behind the ears. “Okay, she is pretty adorable.”

“She is the second cutest thing you will ever lay your eyes on,” Monty says.

“What’s the first?” I ask.

“Me, of course.”

That evening, we settle on the couch in the living room for The Bachelorette. Monty is laying in my lap on one end of the couch, leaving space for Felicity on the other.

“Hi, Percy,” she says, coming to join us. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You too,” I say. Felicity looks good. By that, I mean she looks happy. She’s kept up the side-shaved look with the rest of her hair cut to her shoulders. She has new glasses with much thicker lenses, but she does less squinting. “How’s school?”

“Good,” she says, sitting down. “You?”

At the same time, Monty gets up and goes to his room. “One second, I forgot something.” 

I nod to show I heard him. “School is good,” I tell Felicity. “College, you know? Well, I guess you don’t. But you never truly understand broke college student jokes until you are a broke college student.”

It could be worse. I have a job on campus. I work at the Student Health Center, so I basically sit at a desk for a few hours and give students bandages or tampons every now and then. It’s an easy job that gives me plenty of time to study but it obviously doesn’t pay a hundred dollars every shift.

Monty returns with Yardstick.

“Really? You’re bringing the cat?” Felicity asks

Monty gasps and clutches Yardstick to his chest. “How dare you speak that way about our daughter?!”

Felicity looks at me. “Percy? You’re condoning this?”

“I love how you think I have any kind of control over him.”

Monty sits on the couch again and flips off Felicity, Yardstick in his lap. Felicity rolls her eyes and flips him off right back.

“Be nice to each other!” I scold, even though that’s a losing battle.

“Alright, shut up! Bachelorette time!” Felicity says and the room falls silent for maybe five minutes. But once the show kicks off, Monty and Felicity start arguing. They drag all of the contestants; but specifically, they drag each other’s favorites, who I think are Liam and Nathan.

“Liam isn’t even that attractive, though!” Monty says.

“I don’t care if he’s cute! He’s the least stupid one there,” Felicity insists.

“Felicity, this is The Bachelorette. They’re all stupid.”

Felicity chucks a pillow at Monty, which he throws right back at her. At the end of the episode, it’s time for one of the contestants to be sent home.

Poor Liam.

“Hell yeah!” Monty says, getting up and jumping. Yardstick doesn’t appreciate this and stalks off. Her collar, which is sparkly and purple, jingles while she walks.

Felicity groans. “No!”

“You owe me twenty bucks, Feli! I will accept cash or Venmo.”

Felicity, grumbling, reaches into her pocket and hands Monty a twenty-dollar bill.

“I feel like I just witnessed history,” I say. “Does Felicity have to pick a new favorite now?”

Monty weighs this. “I think that’s fair. Feli?”

Felicity, who still looks like she wants to deck Monty, nods. “Next time we watch, I’ll pick another one.”

We all turn to the door when it clicks and Eleanor walks in. “Oh, hello Percy,” she says. She sounds like she’s surprised to see me.

“Hi,” I say. I don’t know what to call her.

There’s an awkward silence for a few beats. Then, she says, “Well, I’m going to start on dinner.” She goes to the kitchen.

Felicity goes to her room and Monty leads me to his.

“Hey, Crookshanks,” I say when I see Yardstick in her box.

Monty glares at me. “Don’t besmirch her name like that,” he says, all business.

“As co-cat-dad, I think I’m allowed to have a nickname for her.”

“But does it have to be _Harry Potter_?” Monty asks, picking up Yardstick and sitting on his bed with her.

I shrug and sit next to him, lying back on his bed.

There’s a comfortable silence while Monty pets Yardstick and says something to her, though she obviously doesn’t respond. He really loves this cat.

“You treat Yardstick like she’s an actual baby.”

“She’s my baby,” Monty says in that human-talking-to-animals voice.

“You never really told me how you got her. Did you adopt her somewhere?”

Monty shakes his head. “No, she followed me from the parking lot. I took her inside and gave her some water and she refused to leave. I asked Mom if we could keep her and she said yes. She loves Yardstick, loves cats in general, actually.”

“How come you never had one growing up?”

Monty smiles wryly. “Father wouldn’t let us. He thought pets were a waste of time and money. Felicity and I asked, once, but he said no and told us not to ask again.”

I nod. I should have expected as much. I know Monty’s dad was horrible but it’s like I’m constantly being surprised by just how horrible he is. Sometimes you think that even monsters have some kind of soft spot, some redeeming quality, but Henry Montague Sr. has nothing of the sort.

“How are things with your mom?”

Monty doesn’t answer at first. He lies next to me and Yardstick makes herself comfortable on his stomach. “They’re fine, I guess,” he says. “We don’t really fight anymore just . . . exist around each other.” He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers. “She’s started to go by her maiden name since the divorce will be official tomorrow. ”

“What is her maiden name?”

“Callington,” Monty answers. “She asked Felicity and I if we wanted to change our last names. I don’t see the point. It would be a lot of money and Monty Callington doesn’t make much sense.”

“What about if you got married?”

“What about it?”

“Would you keep Montague?”

Monty considers it. “I don’t know. Probably not.” He looks over at me, half-smiling. “Thinking of proposing, darling? Monty Newton has a bit of a ring to it.”

I scoff because he’s joking, but I really don’t mind the sound of it.

That night, I wake up and Monty isn’t in bed. The door is open. I look at the clock; it’s four in the morning. Monty’s hearing aid is still on the bedside table. Yardstick isn’t in her box. I get up to investigate.

There’s a light on down the hall, the bathroom.

I knock on the door. “Monty?” I say, hopefully not too loud.

“Yeah,” Monty says from inside. “You can come in.”

I do and he’s sitting on the floor near the toilet, Yardstick in his lap.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Monty nods. “Yeah, I just felt sick so . . .” He nods at the toilet.

“Nervous about today?” 

“That’s probably it.”

“Do you think you’re going to puke?”

Monty shrugs. “Don’t think so. Just felt really nauseous.”

“Do you wanna come back to bed?”

“I don’t think I could sleep now.”

“We can watch Netflix.”

Monty gives me a tired smile and stands up, still cradling Yardstick in his arms. We go back to his room and Monty sets up Netflix on his laptop. We settle in bed and Yardstick situates herself at the end of the bed. Monty leans into my side and I put an arm around him, kissing his temple. He puts on a John Mulaney special. I keep dozing off but when that special ends, Monty puts on another one, so I guess that he isn’t going to sleep.

When he’s almost done with the third special, Eleanor knocks on the door to wake us up. That’s good because if Monty finished that special, he would have run out.

We get ready in silence. Monty looks like a zombie. I don’t think he slept at all last night. He must be on autopilot. When Monty starts putting his pants on backward, I intervene.

“Monty?” I put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?” I ask.

Monty freezes and he realizes what he’s doing. He starts shaking, and at first, I think he’s laughing, but then he starts _sobbing_. They’re ugly, broken sobs. He’s crying so hard he all but collapses into my arms.

“Oh, Monty,” I say, holding him as tight as I can. He’s thinner than he used to be. “You’re going to be okay.” That just seems to make him cry harder. I rub his back and kiss his forehead. I don’t know what I can do other than just hold him. “I’m right here, love. You’re going to be alright.”

Monty cries for a long, long time. If we don’t start moving again, we’ll probably be late, but I’m not going to say that. I’m not going to rush him. When I try to gently pull back and guide him back to getting dressed, he holds me tighter.

I’ve never seen Monty like this. I don’t know what to do. So I just keep holding him.

There’s so _much_ inside Monty. Twelve hours ago, he was laughing with his sister in his living room after watching The Bachelorette. Now, he’s breaking down in my arms at the thought of seeing his father. There’s so much room inside of him, so many beautiful things, but so much pain that you could drown in it.

When the tears and the sobs finally subside, he just slumps against me, hiccuping. I run my fingers through his hair.

“Monty, we really need to finish getting ready,” I murmur. I press a lingering kiss to his forehead, then pull away.

Monty wipes at his cheeks, still hiccuping. He doesn’t move for a second and I’m genuinely afraid he’s just going to collapse. But after taking a deep, shuddering breath, he starts pulling his clothes on the correct way. We’re still silent.

Monty finishes getting ready, scratches Yardstick behind the ears, and takes my hand.

“Are you ready?” I ask, squeezing his hand. Monty nods. Hand in hand, we go to join Eleanor and Felicity in the kitchen. Eleanor made pancakes so we eat together, though no one really feels like talking. Felicity, because we’re all supposed to be dressed semi-formal, is wearing a pantsuit. I’ve never seen her wear a suit but I think it’s becoming. Not for the first time, I can’t help wondering if Felicity is straight; but it’s hardly the time to bring that up.

Eleanor is the only one who talks. “Percy, you’ll have to thank your mother for me,” she says.

“Ma’am?” I say.

“For the tea,” she clarifies. “That was very kind of her. I’ve honestly never had sweet tea before but your mother’s is wonderful.”

“She’ll be happy to hear that.”

Eleanor smiles. She’s trying so hard. She and Monty have the same forced smile. He must have picked it up from her.

When we finish, Eleanor gathers the plates and puts them in the sink to deal with later. We all pile into Eleanor’s car: Eleanor and Felicity in front, Monty and I in back.

The car ride is as silent as the kitchen was. Monty sits close to me and I put my arm around him again. Some days, I just want to shelter Monty from everything. Today is one of those days.

Monty is shaking under my hands, almost violently. I press a kiss to his temple. There isn’t much I can say that I haven’t already tried to say, especially with Eleanor and Felicity here. Every part of Monty is tense. I rub circles on his side, holding him close.

Felicity glances back at us every now and then, brow furrowed. I try to make sure she knows that things are fine, that things _will be_ fine. You could almost think Monty had fallen asleep if his eyes weren’t open, staring at his hands.

 _I love you,_ I want to tell him. _I love you_ and _I’m here for you_ and _you’ll get through this_ . I almost tell him this is the easiest part before it’s all over. But this isn’t the easiest part for him. Talking about his father has never been easy. He hardly talks to me about it. He almost never did before he was hospitalized. Now he has to tell a room full of strangers, his family, _and_ his father and has to be as honest as possible.

There’s a lot of waiting when we get to the courthouse: waiting to go to the courtroom and waiting for Monty’s father and waiting for a judge. There aren’t a lot of people here. There’s us, Eleanor’s lawyer, a judge, Monty’s father, and his lawyer. When Monty’s father walks in, I have to physically hold Monty up. It takes him a minute to regain his footing and then he brushes me off. He hunches his shoulders like he’s trying to make himself smaller. He won’t look at his father but his father won’t stop looking at him. He stares at Monty, at Felicity in her suit, at Eleanor trying to shield both of them from his gaze. It’s a sweet sentiment but, not for the first time, I wish Eleanor had been like this their entire lives. I wish she had tried harder.

I never really get a good look at Monty’s father. I think this is the first time I’ve realized how much Monty looks like him. They have the same short, stocky build; the same dark ruffled hair. Monty’s eyes are blue but that may be from Eleanor. Even their faces are structured similarly. But the similarities end there. They carry themselves in entirely different ways, Monty and his father. Monty is the most beautiful person I’ve ever known—in all forms of the word—and he’s hard to tear your eyes from. His father has a constant scowl that makes you want to look away.

When we all sit down, Monty’s hand finds mine. I lace our fingers and squeeze.

After some opening statements from Eleanor’s lawyer, Eleanor is supposed to speak first. She explains how Monty was hospitalized and lost his hearing in one ear because of his father, how her husband has abused Monty his entire life. She wants a full separation from him, full custody of Felicity, child support, and she wants Henry Sr. to pay her the amount that Monty’s hospital bills cost. I want Monty’s father to serve 25 to life, but that’s fine too.

Felicity gets to go next. Mister Montague never hit Felicity. He didn’t pay much attention to her: forgetting her birthdays and not taking her to school functions or friends’ houses. He would threaten Felicity and made her feel very unsafe, especially after she found out what he was doing to Monty. She wouldn’t feel safe living with her father again.

When it’s Monty’s turn he stares straight ahead, speaking almost robotically. His father has been hitting him for as long as he can remember. When Monty was twelve, single hits turned into beatings. He doesn’t mention it, but I know that it was because he kissed Richard. He talks about boarding school, how his rib was probably broken but no one would take him to check on it. He talks about his chipped tooth junior year after his father threw him into a fireplace and how he had to cut class to get it fixed. He explains being hospitalized a few months ago, losing his hearing in one ear and how that has changed everything. He talks about starting therapy, how Doctor Mendoza put him on antidepressants recently (which I didn’t know) and has suggested that he might have PTSD from what his father did to him. His father outright _laughs_ at that but Monty isn’t deterred.

I knew all of this. I probably know better than anyone else how traumatized Monty is. But to hear it out loud knocks all the wind out of my chest.

After Monty, it’s my turn. Monty pins me with a desperate look. It’s a look I’m familiar with, a _cover for me_ look. But I have to be honest. So, I am. I talk about watching Monty spiral. How, after he got expelled and his father beat him, I found him lying in the grass behind his house and he told me he wanted to die; how I heard it so many times after that. I talk about Monty’s alcoholism, how he drank to cope. I don’t think he drinks much anymore, but it used to be really bad. I talk about the fear of never knowing if he wouldn’t come home one night, or if he would pass out and never wake up. I talk about how Monty started hooking up with people all the time. I hate every second of it. The shame on Monty’s face makes me want to stop but I know I can’t. Does he know how sorry I am? How much I wish I didn’t have to do this?

Eleanor looks shocked, like she might cry. She cries so much. Felicity just looks sad, disappointed maybe. She pointedly won’t look at Monty, though I think she means it as a kindness.

When I’m done, the judge calls a recess. I don’t know why. This should be enough to make a ruling. But she decides that after the recess, she will hear from Mister Montague and make a decision.

Monty won’t look at me. He won’t look at any of us. He says something about going outside to get some air and slips out. His father watches him go but doesn’t follow. If he tried to, I may have had to risk getting arrested. Felicity, Eleanor, and I all gather outside, not speaking.

Felicity and I sit on a bench together. Eleanor excuses herself to find a restroom.

“I didn’t know . . .” Felicity says.

“Know what?” I ask.

“All of that,” she says. “I mean, I knew Monty drank all the time. I just didn’t realize . . .”

I nod. I really don’t want to say any more about it.

“Where did Monty go, anyway?”

“He said something about getting some air?” I stand up. “I’m going to see if I can find him.”

Felicity nods. “I think we should keep an eye on him right now.”

I find the closest door that leads outside. It leads to a little courtyard. I see Monty sitting on some steps, so I skip out the door. I don’t think he notices me or realizes it’s me. I walk up behind him and smell smoke. He’s smoking.

Monty was never a big smoker. He did it sometimes but drinking was what he got hooked on. He would only smoke every now and then when things were really bad, if he was really stressed or really upset. If he’s smoking now . . .

I want to think that it’s just court stress, but he has a pack of cigarettes next to him that’s about half-empty.

“Monty?”

Monty jumps, looking up at me. “Percy,” he says.

I sit next to him on the step and look pointedly at the cigarette.

Monty doesn’t meet my gaze. “Got worried about me?” he says.

“I guess I needed to be.”

“Percy—”

“You never used to smoke unless things were really bad.” He looks at me, surprised. “Are they really bad, Monty?”

Monty shrugs and looks away again. He snubs his cigarette on the ground. “It’s not my new addiction or anything.”

“Does Doctor Mendoza know?” I ask.

“No,” Monty says, tripping on a sad laugh.

“Monty,” I say, “she should know. That’s her job, to help you—“

“I know,” Monty chokes out. His voice is ragged.

“Then why won’t you tell her?”

Monty still won’t meet my eyes. He picks at the polish on his nails. “Didn’t want to let her down, I guess.”

“What?”

“It’s just . . . Doctor Mendoza thinks I’m doing so well, that I’m improving so quickly. Everyone thinks I’m getting better, even you did.” He sighs. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

“What’s the point of all of us thinking you’re getting better when you’re not, Monty? It’s not like we expect you to get over years of trauma in a few months but all we want is for you to get better, or at least start getting there.”

“No, everyone wants to think I’m better. Mom wants to see that her son isn’t totally broken so she can keep living her life, guilt-free. Felicity wants me to get out of her way. You . . .”

“I love you,” I say. “I want you to be okay. _Why_ didn’t you tell me you were backsliding?”

This is it. The other shoe. The plummet.

Monty is silent for a long time. He reaches for the cigarettes again but I put my hand over his and he sobs, I think. “Do you remember,” he starts, “in high school . . . the way you looked at me?”

“What?” Now I’m even more lost.

“You looked at me like I was a kicked puppy. It was like I stopped being your best friend and started being your charity case. I _know_ that’s not how it was,” Monty rushes out before I can protest. “But that’s how it felt.” He leans into me and I put my arm around him. “And when I got out of the hospital and started going to therapy, you stopped looking at me like that so much. You started looking at me like I was me again. You looked at me like . . . like you wanted me. You were happy and you were proud of me. I didn’t want that to stop, I guess.”

“Monty . . .” I don’t know what to say.

“Yeah, I know, it’s stupid.”

“It’s . . . it’s not. I just didn’t know you felt this way.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” Monty admits.

“But I want to, Monty. I want to be here for you,” I say. “Why do you think that’s some kind of burden?”

Monty sniffles. “You’re going to make me start crying again.”

“It’s okay if you need to.”

Monty shakes his head. “God, I’m a mess.”

“Yeah, you are,” I say. Monty laughs. “I don’t think we’ll ever stop being messes, at least not until we’re like . . . fifty.”

“Think I’ll live that long?” Monty says flatly.

“Don’t say shit like that,” I scold.

Monty shrugs. “If I don’t kill myself, the alcoholism is gonna catch up to me.”

“Monty, please.”

Monty must hear the fear in my voice because he stops. “Sorry, Perce.” He reaches over and takes my free hand, kissing the back of it. “I just don’t know how I’ll ever come back from this.”

“Doctor Mendoza might have a few ideas.”

“She’s gonna be so pissed.”

“Just because she wants to help you.”

Monty is silent for a while, then he nods. “Yeah, okay, I’ll tell her.”

“Thank you.”

He picks up the pack of cigarettes. “This shit’s disgusting anyway.”

“Definitely.” I squeeze his hand. “Monty, can I ask something else from you?”

“Go for it,” he says.

“Just be honest with me? About how you’re feeling?”

“Like right now?”

“All the time, but right now works too.”

Monty leans his head on my shoulder. “Well, right now, I feel like if I have to go back in there and face my mom, Felicity, _and_ my father after your testimony, I might throw up.”

“I’m sorry about that, by the way.”

“I know. I don’t blame you, I just . . . hated it. You shouldn’t have had to put up with all of that.”

“You shouldn’t have felt like it was the only way to handle what you were going through. You were going through something traumatic and you didn’t have any way out. Of course you were going to make risky decisions.”

“Now you sound like Doctor Mendoza.”

“Great minds and all that.”

Monty chuckles. “Well, I’m glad I have you to psychoanalyze me when Doctor Mendoza isn’t here.”

“That wasn’t psychoanalysis.”

“It felt like it.”

I kiss his forehead. “All I’m saying is that depressed people don’t always make good choices. You were in that position but you’re working to get out of it.”

“Right,” Monty says.

“ _Monty_ ,” I admonish.

“You don’t think I’m beyond fixing?”

“I don’t think you were ever broken.”

The judge sides with Eleanor entirely. It restores some faith in humanity. She gets full custody of Felicity with child support _and_ reimbursement of Monty’s hospital bills. In addition, Mister Montague is forbidden from coming near any of them on pain of jail time or a fine. It doesn’t mean much because he could easily pay the fine, but it’s comforting to know that they can call the police if he gets too close.

On the drive back, we get Panda Express. I wouldn’t say any of us are happy but relieved, maybe content. Tired but in a good way. Monty, Felicity, and I drape ourselves on the couch to eat. Eleanor sits in an armchair. It feels very domestic. I wonder, if there had been no Mister Montague in the picture, if they could have always had this. If, without his father terrorizing him, Monty could have been close with his mother and his sister. I’m sitting between him and Felicity, his legs in my lap, but the two have been debating over Felicity’s new Bachelorette favorite for the past ten minutes. Monty took a picture of the whole setup.

Once we finish we all go our separate ways to change out of our court clothes. Once Monty and I are changed, Monty wraps his arms around me from behind and presses a kiss to my shoulder (the only place that he can reach).

“What’s this for?” I ask.

Monty shrugs. He gets on his toes and starts kissing my neck, feather-light.

It tickles and I laugh. I turn around and drape my arms on Monty’s shoulders. “Really, what’s this for?”

He shrugs again. “Can’t I just kiss you because I love you?”

That pulls a smile out of me. “I didn’t say you couldn’t.” I lean down to kiss him, short and gentle.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Monty says.

“That’s dangerous.”

Monty rolls his eyes. “This involves you.”

“It does?”

He nods. “I’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff. For one thing, I think I want to try to start college for the spring semester.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t have to pick a major right away so I’ll be able to figure things out. I know I’m not in peak condition or anything but I don’t think sitting around with nothing to do is helping anymore.”

“I think it’s a good idea if you think you’re ready.” I brush his hair back from his face. “How does this involve me?”

“Well,” Monty says, “I’ve also been thinking about us.”

“There’s an us now?”

“There’s always been an us, Perce.”

I lean my forehead against his. “Alright, what does this mean for us?”

“I want us to be boyfriends. The whole package,” he says. “I don’t know how good I’ll be at it. I’ve never had an actual boyfriend before—”

“I’m very glad that you don’t consider Sinjon your first boyfriend,” I say.

Monty wrinkles his nose at me. “ _Anyway_.”

“Right,” I say. “Well, I’ve never had a boyfriend before either, so it’ll be a learning experience for both of us. But I think we have the basics covered. Just don’t cheat on me, or I’ll have to kill you.”

“Straight to the point there.”

“Maybe I’ll just slash your tires,” I say. “Bash in your headlights with a baseball bat.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“Let’s just say Carrie Underwood taught me well.”

Monty scoffs. “Don’t bring country music into this.”

“Now you sound like my dad.”

“You’re avoiding the question!”

I laugh. “Wasn’t it an obvious yes?”

Monty grumbles something so I kiss him. But it doesn’t last for very long before he starts talking again. “One more thing.”

I nod to show I’m listening.

“I was also thinking about an apartment? You, me, and Yardstick?”

“And Yardstick,” I repeat.

“What kind of father would I be if I left her with her grandmother?”

“I’m starting to think you love Yardstick more than you love me.”

“Can’t I love you both equally?”

“I guess,” I say. “But if I have to sleep on the couch because Yardstick is in our bed, there will be issues.”

Monty’s face lights up. “So that’s a yes then? To the apartment?”

“Of course, that’s a yes.”


	4. part four: remade

**monty**

In my hands, I am holding the keys to my first apartment.

Not just mine, _ours._ Mine and Percy’s. It’s a little surreal.

Percy is coming with me to use them. We’ve seen the apartment before, obviously, but we’re mainly making sure the keys work. Regardless, there’s nothing like the feeling when I unlock _our_ apartment and step into it with him, knowing that it’s ours now.

It’s obviously not a huge space. It’s smaller than the apartment Mom moved us into. The living room is about the size of my bedroom in Mom’s apartment but the floor-to-ceiling windows make up for it. The kitchen is about the same. It’s very modern-looking, all hardwood floors and white walls, a relatively high ceiling. It only has one bedroom and bathroom but that’s all we need.

From the way Percy is grinning, he and I are both feeling giddy. Without warning, Percy picks me up by my waist and spins me around before kissing me. We’re both laughing.

“It’s perfect,” Percy says.

I nod. “And it’s ours. We’re proper adults now.”

“Excuse you, I’ve _been_ a proper adult.”

“You’ve been eating frozen pizza and microwave macaroni for the past week.”

“We just had to pay first month’s rent,” Percy retorts.

I just hum in response, then walk my way through the rooms. I have seen them plenty of times by now, but now I’m imagining what will go where. I take a picture of it all. “I’m gonna have to put this place together, aren’t I?”

“I’ll help you after midterms.”

“That’s in two weeks. And then we have to be moved in for classes like two weeks after that.”

Percy wraps his arms around my waist and sets his chin on my shoulder. “Okay, you will have to set up most of our stuff.” He kisses my cheek. “Sorry, darling.”

I lean back into him. “It’s fine, as long as you make up for it with an amazing Christmas present.”

Doctor Mendoza smiles when I sit down. “You look like you’re in a good mood.”

“I am,” I say. I haven’t stopped grinning since we got the keys two days ago.

“I’m guessing this has something to do with that apartment you told me about?”

I nod, then hold up the keys for her to see.

“That’s wonderful, Monty! When are you two moving?”

“I’m going to be the moving team for the next two weeks while Perce is taking his midterms. We want to be settled in after New Year’s though, in time for next semester.”

Doctor Mendoza nods. “And you want to continue our sessions virtually?”

“If we can,” I say. I like Doctor Mendoza a lot. I think she’s helped me a lot and I don’t like the idea of having to open up to another therapist.

“Of course,” Doctor Mendoza says. “I think that will be easier than finding a new one or you having to drive two hours to meet with me.” She types a few things into her computer before turning back to me. “And your antidepressants, is the dosage you’re on still doing okay?”

After my sort-of-meltdown the day of the trial, I _did_ keep my word to Percy. I talked to Doctor Mendoza about how I was feeling and she decided that upping my dosage would probably help. And it has. She said, “We can’t just give you pills to fix it and send you on your way. But when you’re doing everything you can, the pills can give you an extra boost.”

“I think so,” I say.

“Great,” she says, typing a few more things. “In that case, you should be all set up for moving in terms of my stuff. I’m glad you’re doing this, Monty. I think it will be very good for you.”

I smile. “Me too. I’m not all that excited to go back to school but you know . . .”

Doctor Mendoza nods. “Any ideas about what you’re going to major in?”

“Not really,” I admit.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Once you start taking some classes, we can talk about exploring your interests.”

“Speaking of interests,” I say. “I had this idea.”

“Alright,” she says, looking bemused.

“It’s for Percy’s Christmas present. And I’m going to get him something else too in case this doesn’t go over well but I’m not sure if it’s a good idea so I need a second opinion.”

“Well, what is it?”

I explain my idea to Doctor Mendoza. “It’s kind of a gag gift but also kind of not? I’m really hoping he likes it.”

Doctor Mendoza is grinning. “I think that he’ll love it.”

That weekend, while I’m packing, Felicity appears in my doorway. “Hey, Monty?” she says.

“Back from your party so early?” I ask. I’m in the closet boxing clothes so I can’t see her, but I know she’s rolling her eyes.

“It’s ten o’clock.”

“I know.”

Another eye roll. “I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“How did you know you were gay?”

This makes me stop. I step out of the closet to look at her. She looks bashful. “How— what?”

“How. Did. You know. You. Were. Gay?” she repeats.

“Are you having some kind of sexual awakening?” I ask.

“No!” she exclaims. “Maybe! No!” She huffs, flops onto my bed, and groans. Yardstick, who does not know the art of subtlety, hops up there with her and headbutts Felicity’s hand until Felicity pets her. “Maybe I’ll shave my whole head.”

“Woah!” I say. “Slow down! What happened?”

“Well, I was at Johanna’s Christmas party,” she starts, absentmindedly giving Yardstick scritches.

“I’m aware.”

She stops, glares at me, and continues. “Well, my friend Sim kind of . . . kissed me?”

“Oh,” I say. “Did you like it?”

Felicity shrugs. “It was better than my first kiss.”

“Who was your first kiss?”

“Dante Robles, last year,” she says.

“Robles? As in—”

“Doctor Robles’s son,” she confirms.

“Huh,” I say. “Did you like _that_ kiss?”

“It was . . . _wet_.”

“Kissing is not the driest activity,” I admit. “But it shouldn’t be wet enough to bother you.” I decide that continuing to fold clothes during my sister’s identity crisis might be a little rude, so I sit next to her on my bed. Yardstick abandons Felicity to make herself comfortable in my lap. “But did you like kissing Sim?”

“It was fine? I don’t think I’d risk it all to do it again or anything.” She lets out a long, frustrated sigh. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Felicity sigh this much when she wasn’t trying to make a point. Yardstick looks concerned. “I don’t know. I never really saw myself in a relationship or anything with a man but I’ve never really considered girls as an option.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been able to see you with a man either.”

Felicity looks up at me, frowning. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I may be a humble bisexual, but my gaydar is at least semi-functional. Admittedly, it isn’t as fine-tuned towards girls. Usually, my objective is to find the ones who like men. Besides, if you assume a girl’s sexuality wrong, usually the worst that happens is she gets offended. Assume a guy’s sexuality is wrong, the worst that can happen is he beats you up or kills you.” I stop.

Felicity looks surprised and more than a little scared. I remind myself that Felicity has not grown up nose-to-nose with homophobia—internalized and externalized—like Percy and I have. So I ease up a little.

“But,” I say, trying to sound a little more gentle, “in the end you’re the only one who can know if you’re queer or not.”

“But how did _you_ know?”

I think about it for a second. “I didn’t really have _an awakening_. Unless realizing how good Wesley Oswald looked in his tight gym shorts counts as an awakening.”

Felicity makes a face. “Spare me the details.”

“I was _eleven_ !” I say, laughing. “I just sort of realized ‘ _hey, boys are cute too’_ and moved on with it. I didn’t really know there were words for how I felt. But I didn’t really think anything of it. I just sort of accepted that I liked both.”

“Did you ever think something was _wrong_ with you?” Felicity asks.

“Absolutely. Hundreds of times,” I say. “Then, Richard kissed me in seventh grade and Father cemented those thoughts. I never really doubted that I wasn’t straight but I often thought it sucked. When I was fourteen and started delving into the internet, I realized that bisexual was the word I was looking for.”

Felicity considers this, biting her lip. “What if— what if I don’t like _either_?”

“There’s a word for that.”

She sits straight up and stares at me. “There _is_?”

“Yeah, asexual or aromantic. It depends on your specifics, but there are words for the romantic and sexual equivalents of _no thanks_.”

Felicity is looking at me like I have revealed the secret of life to her. It’s nice to see, honestly. “Well,” she says. “I think I have some research to do.”

I laugh. “Go for it, Feli.”

She gets up to leave. Before she steps out, she turns back to me. “Thanks, Monty,” she says. “That really helped.”

I spend the next week driving back and forth from Mom’s apartment, our new apartment, various stores, and Percy’s mom’s house. Percy has asked me to go there and get some of the things that he wanted to take with him to the dorms but couldn’t and wants to put in our apartment. I was nervous about this at first, mainly because I would have to interact with Percy’s mother without him as a buffer. But Percy’s mom—who insists that I call her Josee instead of Miss Lewis—is really sweet. Every time I come over to get Percy’s things she helps me and we talk. It’s nice and now I have a collection of embarrassing stories about Percy as a kid (though I already had a lot). She also feeds me every time I come over, no matter how much I tell her she doesn’t have to.

“Now, what kind of mama would I be if I didn’t feed my son’s boyfriend?”

I think she noticed how much I liked being called Percy’s boyfriend so she makes a point to do it when she can. She always compliments my makeup and my nails and says we should get our nails done together sometime. At first, she always tried to hug me and I let her because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by pushing her off but I think she noticed that I just don’t do mom hugs. I usually love hugs. Percy calls me a leech because I’m always clinging to him. But the concept of being hugged by my family is just too foreign to me. So she stopped hugging me eventually and I’m grateful for it.

Right now, Josee and I are putting Percy’s things into boxes. It’s the last cluster of Percy’s things that I have to get from here. I made it clear that he would have to move in his stuff from his dorm. I’ve noticed a few new boxes every time I go by to deliver stuff so I think that it’s safe to assume that stress-cleaning is getting Percy through midterms.

“So what are you turning this room into now that Percy is officially moved out?” I ask.

“Probably just a guest room,” Josee says. “He’ll still need a place to sleep when he visits and just because he has his own apartment doesn’t mean he isn’t required to come back for the holidays.”

“I don’t think you could keep him away if you wanted to,” I say.

“What’s your mama doing with your room?” she asks.

“Probably the same. She hasn’t really mentioned it.”

Josee nods. Her and my mom met when Percy and I were kids, obviously, but they really talked to each other at Thanksgiving when Josee invited us all over. Though I never said so, I’m glad that she did. I don’t even know what Thanksgiving would have looked like with Mom, Felicity, and I. They seemed to get along really well. Josee is warm, loud, and talkative. My mother is none of these things but she said she found Josee charming.

“So, Monty,” Josee says. “What are you getting Percy for Christmas?”

“Don’t have any ideas?” I tease.

Josee scoffs. “He’s my son. Of course, I have ideas.” I pin her with a look and she sighs. “Fine, I’m blank.”

“I have a few ideas,” I admit. “He says his violin case is coming apart.”

“Of course it is. He’s had that thing since middle school. But you know Percy, he refuses to throw things away. I raised him a little too well in that department.”

I hide a snort but Josee catches it and gives me a look.

“Don’t get smart with me, boy,” she says, but she’s smiling.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say.

Josee humphs and turns back to the clothes she’s boxing. She holds up a shirt. “How on Earth does he have anything to wear down there? He has so many clothes here.”

The shirt that she’s holding isn’t even Percy’s—it’s mine. I don’t know when I left it here. I think sometime in junior year. It’s too small for Percy so I wonder if he never noticed that he had it or if he kept it for some reason. I don’t mention it though, just shrug.

**Percy: I hate midterms**

**Percy: I hate midterms**

**Percy: I hate midterms**

**Monty: how was your exam today darling?**

**Percy: Exams can suck my dick**

**Monty: that’s sort of my job**

**Percy: jkfhhgslfgha**

**Monty: which exam did you take today?**

**Percy: Math general**

**Monty: ah, math, natural enemy to the gays**

**Percy: You’re joking but I’m 90% sure I failed**

**Monty: don’t you have an a in the class???**

**Percy: Yes**

**Monty: i think you’ll be okay**

**Monty: [image attachment]**

**Monty: our daughter believes in you**

**Percy: Is Yardstick wearing a Christmas sweater???**

**Monty: with working lights yes**

**Percy: How much did that c o s t ?**

**Monty: none of your concern percival**

Felicity also thought the sweater was a stupid thing to buy. I think Yardstick deserves to look festive.

**Monty: wasn’t this your last exam?**

**Percy: Yes**

**Monty: does that mean you’ll be here soon??????**

**Percy: In two days**

**Monty: !!!!!!!**

**Percy: I told you this**

**Monty: well i forgot**

**Percy: Tsk tsk**

**Monty: don’t tsk me percival**

**Percy: Why are you calling me that?**

**Monty: idk but i don’t want to stop**

**Percy: Okay then**

**Percy: How’s the moving going?**

**Monty: almost done, just a few more things that i probably won’t bring until we officially move in**

**Monty: which is very soon**

**Percy: Two weeks!**

**Monty: fkgjsfghagjhglk**

**Percy: I can tell that you’re excited**

Two days later, I spend the day in the living room because I want to open the door for Percy. Of course, Felicity makes fun of me.

“Waiting for your husband to return from war?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s been a long, dark winter and nothing but the warm embrace of my beloved shall ease my sorrow.”

Felicity snorts. “How many yearning letters have you written to him?”

“Oh, no less than twenty,” I assure her.

“Only twenty?”

“I would have written more but I simply could not afford postage. I had to feed and clothe my children, longing for their father.” I hold up Yardstick who, after a few months of living with us, is no longer lithe and slim. She is still wearing her sweater with blinking lights.

Felicity rolls her eyes. “Your children seem to be doing alright.”

“I’m not a neglectful father!”

“You’re a lot of things, Monty, but you’re not that.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

Felicity just rolls her eyes again.

“Your eyes are going to stick like that.”

“Thanks, Mom,” she says drily.

Before I can retort, there’s a knock at the door and I jump out of my seat. Yardstick voices her displeasure and Felicity laughs but I ignore them. I swing open the door and there’s Percy, grinning. I throw my arms around his neck and stand on my toes to kiss him. Percy’s arms go around my waist.

“Stop being gross!” Felicity teases. I flip her off, not even pulling away.

When we do come up for air, Felicity is gone and Yardstick is winding herself around Percy’s legs. Yardstick has become very fond of Percy. I’m not sure he feels the same. Percy picks her up and holds her out like he’s examining her. “It really does light up,” he says.

“You thought I was joking?”

“I honestly wasn’t sure these existed.”

“Never doubt the power of a father’s love,” I say. “Now close the door. It’s cold.”

“I’m _going_ to fuck this up if you don’t hold still.”

“Sorry!” Percy says. “It tickles!”

I sigh, which makes Percy wrinkle his nose. “Still!” I scold him, though that’s mostly my fault. I am straddling him, our faces inches apart so I can do his makeup. I didn’t really have to get this close to him but I seized an opportunity. It’s not like Percy is complaining. Well, not about this.

He did complain when I put eyeliner on him. Getting him to keep his eyes open was a struggle, but absolutely worth it. I would have kissed him if I didn’t want to ruin all my hard work. Right now, I’m trying to put blush on his nose. It’s all part of my plan. But he isn’t going to come out looking as cute as I want him to if he keeps moving. Yardstick watches, unconcerned, from her box.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Percy asks.

“If you still want to look cute and festive? A bit.”

“What are you even doing to me?”

“You make it sound so heinous, darling.”

Percy smiles and tries to kiss me but I lean back. “If you mess up my masterpiece I won’t kiss you until after Christmas.”

He pouts but doesn’t try again.

Once I get Percy’s face on, I get to do the fun stuff. I hold his chin with one hand and draw on his cheeks with the other. 

I can feel Percy’s breath on my face and, a few months ago, this would have driven me _insane_. Then again, a few months ago, this wouldn’t even be possible. Right now, though, the only thing holding me back from is not wanting to mess up. It’s nice, getting to openly ogle Percy while I do this, though. He can tell, too.

He opens his mouth to say something but I stop him.

“If you mess me up by talking, I will feed all of your left shoes to Yardstick.”

Percy stifles a laugh but nods.

When I’m done, I say, “I’m a genius.”

Percy snorts. “And humble, too.”

I pick up my phone and take pictures and show him. “Come on. You have to admit how much it works for you.” He does look _really_ good. The Christmas trees on his cheeks were just for fun, but they’re cute.

“Okay, you are a bit of a genius.”

“You should let me do your makeup more often.”

“Maybe,” Percy says noncommittally.

“Special occasions, then?” I ask.

Percy smiles fondly and nods. “Fine, special occasions. But only because I love you. That took forever.”

“Genius takes time, darling.”

Christmas morning, I stay in bed for as long as possible. Yardstick joins me when she realizes that I’m awake. It’s not that I’m dreading Christmas, exactly. I just don’t know what to expect.

Christmas in my father’s house was quiet and awkward. Some house staff member would be sent to wake Felicity and I. We would come downstairs and eat a silent breakfast as a family, which we never did except for Christmas or very rare occasions. Small talk would be made before we all handed presents to each other and opened them at the same time, giving the obligatory thanks. Father never got anyone presents and no one got him anything other than my mother by last year. We would spend the rest of the day in our own areas as we were used to.

I don’t know how we’ll do Christmas this year. Obviously there is no house staff to pull reluctant teenagers out of their rooms. I think Mom is cooking. I hear beeping in the kitchen and smell food.

I lay in bed for at least an hour after I wake up. I check Instagram. I posted a picture of Percy’s makeup that I did (with his permission) on my Instagram and people are loving it. I told Percy about it and said that he should let me do it more often because of that but he didn’t seem convinced. There were also a lot of comments about how cute Percy is and, while that’s true, I didn’t tell him about those. I also text Percy a few times but he doesn’t answer so I think it’s safe to assume I won’t hear from him until this afternoon. Every Christmas, he, his parents, and his dad’s parents gather at his dad’s house to eat breakfast together, open presents, and watch Christmas movies. He’s supposed to come here later today so we can exchange presents though.

Eventually, there’s a soft knock at my door.

“Monty?” Mom asks.

“I’m awake,” I say.

“Breakfast in twenty,” she says before going to wake Felicity.

So that’s how we’re doing this.

I drag myself out of bed, put on my hearing aids and sweatpants, and go brush my teeth. Then, I join Mom and Felicity in the kitchen. Yardstick follows me and hops onto the island, watching us from there. Mom is sitting at the table with a waffle and a mug of coffee. Felicity is standing at the counter putting a waffle on her plate so I file in next to her.

“This is weird,” she says under her breath. I nod.

“Maybe it’ll be a good weird,” I say.

Things with my family haven’t been bad. It’s still an adjustment, even months later. But Felicity and I get along fine. We’re not best friends or anything but I don’t think either of us wants to be. We still insult each other a lot but not in the way we used to, actually out for blood. I’m going to miss _Bachelorette_ night when I move more than I want to admit. We’ll probably figure out a way to keep it going, though.

Things with my mother have not been as easy. We’ve just . . . carried on. Coexisted. We never had some great, dramatic mother-to-son reconciliation full of tears and hugs and apologies. We don’t talk about those things unless it’s absolutely necessary. I don’t think I’m anywhere close to being able to say that I love her. But I’m trying so hard not to hate her. And surely that counts for something?

Felicity and I sit down with our waffles and I put an ungodly amount of syrup on mine. Felicity fakes a gag and I elbow her. She laughs and snatches the bottle from me.

Mom opens her mouth like she’s going to scold us but, like Percy, has probably realized that getting Felicity and I to be nice to each other is a losing battle. “Well,” she says, “Merry Christmas, you two.”

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” Felicity says. My mouth is full of waffle, so I just nod.

“After this, we can exchange presents.”

After breakfast, Mom clears the table while Felicity and I retrieve the presents we got the other two before being ushered into the living room. Felicity and I sit on the couch together, amused. I call in Yardstick and she settles herself in my lap.

Felicity, for all her complaints about Yardstick, reaches over and scratches Yardstick behind her ears.

Mom comes back holding two gift bags. She hands one to each of us. “Go ahead and open them,” she says, sitting in the armchair.

I dig into mine. I find a small box inside and pull it out. It’s a polaroid.

“I noticed you started taking pictures and putting them on your walls,” she explains, somewhat sheepishly. “So I thought this would be a little easier.”

She _noticed_. I didn’t think my mother noticed anything about me, or that she cared if she did.

“Do you like it?” she asks.

“I love it,” I say honestly. I smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

She smiles too, relieved. We’re both trying. And I know that counts for something.

That afternoon, we’re all gathered in the living room, only half-watching _The Grinch_. It’s the Jim Carey version (the best version), but we’re all so stuffed on the brownies Mom made that we’re trying not to fall asleep. Mom is still in the armchair, knitting the sweater for Yardstick. She wants to finish it before I officially move out.

Felicity said she didn’t know what she wanted for Christmas which is basically code for money. I got her a not unsubstantial Barnes and Noble gift card and she’s clearly very pleased with it. We’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch but I can see her laptop screen reflecting the Barnes and Noble website on her glasses.

I’m curled up on my side, dozing off. After a nap that hardly felt like a nap, Felicity nudges me with her foot.

“Your phone went off,” she says. She’s watching the movie now, her laptop shut on the ground. Mom has fallen asleep.

I reach for my phone and hearing aids from the coffee table.

**Percy: On my way!**

“Shit,” I say, getting up.

“What?” Felicity asks.

“Percy’s on his way here,” I say. “His present isn’t wrapped.”

Felicity scoffs.

“Shut up.” I grab the bag that Mom gave me my present in and run to my room. Yardstick follows. I grab Percy’s present and switch it out with the polaroid and film in the bag. Recycling.

I’m just in time, too, because the doorbell rings. Felicity is already letting him in when I get to the living room.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” I say, kissing his cheek.

“Do you have to stand on your toes for that?” Felicity asks.

I glare at her. Percy laughs so I glare at him too. “Do you really want to gang up on me before I give you your present?”

Percy shakes his head. “I’m not ganging up on you,” he assures me, slipping an arm around my waist.

“Go be gross in Monty’s room,” Felicity says, waving us off.

Percy takes my hand and pulls me to my room. I pick up his bag and hold it out to him. “Open yours first,” I say.

He gives me a questioning look. I smile. Percy reaches into the bag and pulls out his present. It’s a scrapbook. A little cheesy, definitely. The cover is a picture of me, leaned into Percy’s side with Yardstick between us. It says _The Montague-Lewis-Newton Family._

Percy lets out a surprised little laugh. “Oh my god,” he says, flipping through the pages. They’re all covered in pictures of us and Yardstick, with a few appearances of Felicity and his parents.

“Do you like it?” I ask, grinning.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Percy says. “Did you make this yourself?”

I nod. “It took forever. I was honestly worried I wasn’t going to get it done in time. But I needed something to do with all my free time. Felicity said I took so many pictures that I was like a soccer mom who made scrapbooks of her kids so . . .”

“You embraced the soccer mom?”

“I embraced the soccer mom.”

He holds the book open at a page with a picture of Yardstick on it. It was her first day in the apartment and she was sleeping on my floor. Underneath it says: ( _September 14th) Welcome home Yardstick Victoria Diana Felicity Montague-Lewis-Newton!_

“Why is Yardstick’s full name so long?” Percy asks.

“I think it’s fitting for royalty.”

Percy snorts. “You spoil her way too much.”

“I do not!” I protest, though I totally do.

Percy just makes an _mhm, sure_ sound and continues to look through the book. “How come the rest of the pages are blank?” he asks.

I left a little less than half of the scrapbook pages blank. “Well, I figured we could keep adding to it. Especially since we’re about to move into our own place. _And_ Mom gave me a Polaroid for Christmas so I won’t have to pay for developing pictures all the time.”

Percy smiles and sets the scrapbook down. He pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head. “This is the cheesiest thing you have ever done for me—”

“Well, I thought—”

“—and I love it.” He kisses my cheek. “And I love you.”

“Now who’s being cheesy?” I say.

Percy rolls his eyes, letting go off me. “Whatever. Do you want your present now?”

I nod.

Percy picks up the bag he brought in. It’s a bit larger than the one I gave him. I set it on my bed and pull out the present. It’s a bisexual pride flag.

I’m not crying. I just have to wipe my eyes. “Percy,” I say, breathless.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d like it,” he admits quietly. “It was a long time ago but . . . you told me one time that you wanted one. And you obviously couldn’t have one because of your dad so I thought you’d want one now, to hang in the apartment.”

I’m not crying. I’m not crying. I’m not crying.

“Monty?” Percy says. “What do you think?”

I make a wet sound like a laugh. “God, Percy, it’s . . . I love it.”

I don’t even remember telling Percy I wanted one. But it’s true. I always have, ever since I knew it was my flag. It just felt like something so unquestionably true to _me._ No matter how much my father or _anyone_ tried, they couldn’t take that away from me.

I hug him again. “Thank you,” I say.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says, threading his fingers through my hair.

“I love it,” I say again. “So much.”

“I think I win,” Percy says quietly.

I pull back. “What? Win what?”

“Well, it’s our first Christmas as boyfriends so I knew I had to get you a _really_ good present and since you started crying . . .”

“I’m not crying!” I say, then sniffle.

“I think I win.”

“What? You think your present was better than the one I _slaved over_ for you?”

“Again, it made you cry.”

“Fuck you.”

“Love you too, darling.”

Percy stays with me for a few more hours. Mom makes us all eat dinner together and he and Felicity talk about the dual enrollment classes she’s looking into. Felicity is _smart_ , unbelievably so. I always knew she was smart but I honestly think she might be a genius.

I would never tell her that though. It would go straight to her head.

It’s nice to listen to her and Percy though. They get along well. I think that even if Percy and I had never become friends (impossible, we always would have), he and Felicity still would have hit it off.

I’m still listening to them talk when I get up to refill my glass. On the counter, there are envelopes. The one on top is addressed to me. It’s been opened. I nudge it to find another one addressed to Felicity underneath. Also opened.

“Hey, Mom?” I say.

“Yes, dear?” she looks over at me and when she follows my gaze, she goes pale.

I hold up the envelope with my name on it. “What’re these?” I ask.

“They’re from your father,” she says. “I didn’t want to bother either of you with it.”

“What did he want?” I ask. I don’t dare look at the cards.

“He said if you ever wanted to rethink your decisions, he would gladly take the both of you back.”

“Well,” I say, picking mine up. “He can take that offer and shove it right up his ass.”

My mother blushes but Felicity snorts. She stands up and joins me at the counter, picking hers up. She pulls the card out and scans it.

“Yeah,” she says, taking mine and throwing them both away. “We’re done with him.”

Percy said he had to go home but it’s eleven and he’s still here. I won’t remind him. We’re laying on my bed, him laying horizontal and my head on his stomach. Yardstick is curled up at my side. Percy is playing with my hair. “So my suitemate, Ebrahim, invited me to a party . . .”

I perk up. “A party?” I ask. I’m sure I could manage a party now with my hearing aids. And I don’t have to worry about finding someone to go home with because, well, Percy.

Percy chuckles. “Not the kind of parties you liked to drag me to in high school,” he says. “It’s not even really a party. But Ebrahim invited some friends over for New Year’s Eve and they’re probably going to do stupid stuff with sparklers and fireworks. I figured it would be fun and—no offense, darling—you need some friends. Especially since you’re going to go to school with these people.”

“I resent that,” I say.

“Monty, when is the last time you _made_ a friend?”

I have to think about it. “Boarding school?”

“So what, five years ago? Three at the least?”

“In my defense, everyone in high school already knew and hated me.”

“Do you even know how to socialize?”

“Of course!”

“Do you know how to socialize with someone you aren’t trying to hook up with? Or family,” he adds quickly.

I glare at him.

“Come to the party?” he asks, running his fingers through my hair.

“Only because it’s been too long since I’ve been to one.”

Percy and I do go to the party. Though, it’s hardly a party. It’s at a little house with an interior hardly bigger than Mom’s apartment and it’s barely crowded. People are in the front yard shooting off fireworks and waving around sparklers. Some are sitting on a front porch, drinking and talking. It’s very relaxed and seems exactly like the kind of crowd Percy would run with.

We go inside to get drinks (both of us get sodas).

“Percy!” A tall guy approaches us, grinning.

“Ebrahim!” Percy says. “Monty, this is Ebrahim. Ebrahim, Monty,” he says when Ebrahim is near us.

“The famous boyfriend,” Ebrahim says, shaking my hand.

“I didn’t know Percy talked about me so much.”

“He never shuts up about you!”

“I do not!” Percy protests.

Ebrahim rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say. I’m on my way outside but I’m glad you made it.”

After Ebrahim leaves, Percy turns to me. ‘“I don’t talk about you _that_ much.”

I kiss him. “I would be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Percy grins, looking sheepish.

We join the others on the porch, Percy finding a couch for us to sit on. Fireworks are still being set off in the driveway. Down the street, I see another family doing the same. I make sure to get pictures of it all. I don’t remember the last time I went to a party and didn’t come out of it wasted, but this is nice. I decide to join in when someone produces a new pack of sparklers and Percy elects to stay where he is.

“Suit yourself, darling.” I kiss his cheek and join the group in the front yard.

After some time of aimlessly waving mine around, a girl approaches me.

“You’re new,” she says matter-of-factly. She’s small, pale, with blonde hair and big, dark eyes. She’s pretty, the kind of girl that under different circumstances I would certainly be trying to hook up with. But current circumstances—being happily in requited love with Percy—are preferable.

“I am,” I say.

She holds out her free hand. “Jeanne,” she says.

“Monty,” I reply, shaking her hand. _See, Percy, I can socialize just fine_.

We make small talk. She asks me where I’m from and when I’m starting school and what my major is. Jeanne is a dance major.

“Who are you here with?” she asks.

“My boyfriend, Percy,” I say. There’s a strange swell of emotion that comes with telling someone other than family that Percy is my boyfriend. Good emotion, though.

Jeanne doesn’t seem fazed by it. That’s a good feeling too. It gives me the sudden urge to shout that Percy Newton is my boyfriend from the rooftops just because I _can_. But I refrain.

“Well,” Jeanne says, “if you ever need someone to help you find your way around, here’s my number.” She hands me a slip of paper that I didn’t even see her write on. Then, she walks away and starts talking to a tattooed girl.

I return to Percy, my sparkler now burned out, brandishing the phone number. “Joke’s on you, Perce! _I_ made a friend!”

Percy laughs. “Really?”

“You sound surprised,” I say, sitting next to him on the couch. Percy doesn’t say anything. “Percy!”

“I’m very proud of you,” he says, obviously trying not to laugh.

“Be that way.” I turn so my back is facing him. “I have Jeanne now.”

Percy snorts. “Monty, are you mad at me?”

“Furious.” I pull out my phone and text Jeanne, just telling her that it’s me so that she has my number.

Percy wraps his arm around my waist and sets his chin on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I doubted your socialization skills. Is there a way I can make it up to you?”

“Maybe,” I relent, but before I get to make any demands, someone is shouting that there’s only a minute left until midnight.

We go to join the rest of the group in the front yard where they’re preparing a line of fireworks for midnight. When the countdown starts, I turn to Percy and get on my toes to take him by the back of his neck. Percy, merciful thing that he is, laughs and leans down for me. When we reach midnight, I kiss him. It’s a long kiss surrounded by people cheering and fireworks exploding. It feels very teen rom-com.

They say that whoever your kiss at midnight you’ll spend the rest of the year with. I don’t buy into it. I’ve kissed a lot of people at New Year’s Eve parties and sometimes never saw them again. I’ve spent every year before now with Percy, though, and I intend to spend every year after with him. Call this insurance.

Percy and I had to wake up at _six in the morning_ the day that we were officially moving in. Well, we didn’t exactly have to. But Percy wanted to make a day of it.

“I’d rather get as much of it done now than have to deal with unpacking and setting up everything after we start classes.” He did have a bit of a point. It’s not like the apartment is completely bare, though. We have a couch, a table ideally for a TV, a little dining table, a microwave and fridge that haven’t been plugged in, bedside tables, and a bed without any sheets. We do have a lot of work today.

After getting breakfast at Waffle House, we’ve just started unpacking boxes. We’re starting in our room. I’m making the bed while Percy is putting shelves on the wall. Yardstick is supervising from her box, wearing the sweater that Mom made for her. Above our bed, we’ve hung two things: my pride flag and Percy’s rainbow flag. It brings that strange swell of emotions to look at them. I make sure to get a picture of it with the polaroid, the flags above our made bed, to put in the scrapbook later.

“Which side of the bed do you want?” I ask once I have the bed made.

Percy looks over at me, still putting up shelves. “What?”

“Like, which side of the bed do you want to be yours?”

Percy looks bemused. “I don’t really care which,” he says. “I know you usually like to sleep by the wall so you can have the left side if you want.”

I blink. I guess I do usually sleep next to the wall. I never really noticed. "How do you know that and I don't?"

Percy pauses, then shrugs. "I guess I just notice these things about you."

By the end of the day, the apartment is almost entirely furnished and decorated. All we have left in boxes are clothes and some of Percy’s school stuff. I consider that very productive. And we only got distracted by each other twice.

We’re definitely distracted by each other now though.

I don’t even know how we got here. We were just standing there, in _our_ kitchen. Percy was leaning against the counter, drinking coffee because he is a demon who needs at least two and a half cups to feel caffeinated. And I just looked at him and thought _I love you so much_ —which is not an unusual thought to have when I look at Percy. I thought _I really want to kiss him_. And because I can, I did. And we just didn’t stop.

We’re in our bed now ( _our_ bed, Jesus). We’re both giddy and nervous because this will be our first time. We keep giggling for almost no reason. I must have been a saint for a hundred past lives to get to be the reason that Percy smiles like that. He’s grinning and kissing my neck, hands on my hips. I wonder how I ever lived so long without feeling Percy’s body against mine with his lips on my skin because _fuck_.

I’m still giggling a little, leaning my head back for him. “Hold on, hold on,” I say. I sit up to take off my hearing aids because they aren’t really helpful pressed against a bed. Percy sits back enough to let me, hands still on my hips. I don’t know why he looks at me like that; like he’s in awe. He’s not seeing anything new. But he looks at me like he can’t look away. He practically pounces on me once I set my hearing aids aside and I don’t mind it at all.

I think about how many years I have wanted this: this closeness with Percy. I never thought I would even get a kiss, let alone all this. I never thought I would get to remake my life with him.

My heart is hammering. I’m excited. I’m nervous. I don’t know why. I’ve done stuff like this dozens of times. But it’s Percy. And he leans in to say something to me, his lips brushing my good ear. It makes my cheeks burn. Usually, it would make me feel trapped, having someone speak into my good ear without my hearing aids. But Percy is always my exception.

I wake up to the hazy, morning-after glow that I almost never felt after all my old hookups. We turned off all the lights before bed but Percy must have opened the curtains to let in the sunrise. He’s in bed, though, chest pressed against my back. I shift and he squeezes his arms around my waist, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

“Good morning, love,” he says. I can feel his smile against my skin.

I turn over to face him and smile as he kisses me properly. His hands, warm and calloused, run up and down my back.

I have fallen apart so many times. I have been broken and shattered more times than I can count. But these hands always gather my pieces and put me back together. It’s fitting that, when my father destroyed me so much that I thought I was beyond fixing, Percy was there. He was there after that, picking up those shards. He’s been cut a few times. But he’s always there anyway. And when things fell apart again, when I was still trying to make the pieces fit in a way that made sense, he was there. He held them in place. He fashioned my broken pieces into something more beautiful than they were that I couldn’t even fathom and helped me secure them there.

I could live a hundred lifetimes on my best behavior and not deserve Percy and all he does for me. But I’m trying. Every day I’m trying to repay him the thousands of debts that I owe him. I’m trying to make up for all the pieces he had to gather up that drew blood from those gentle hands. Trying so hard to keep the pieces that he labored over in place, and holding him together in return.

My pieces have come together in a way I never imagined. They’ve come together, a little messy and a little fragile. But it really is beautiful. I never expected to have this: an apartment of my own in another town with a therapist and a pride flag over my head and a cat wearing sweaters and the boy I love in my arms. I don’t think I could have had this if I hadn’t broken like I did. I thought that everything had been destroyed, that my life would be ruined. And things were. My life, as it was, was absolutely destroyed. But that made way for things to come together into this new life of mine. Not broken, not whole as I was, but whole as I am now, with a few embellishments here and there.

“Good morning, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well y'all. That's it. It's over and I'm very sad about it. I had an amazing time writing this fic, probably the most fun I've had writing any fic. Y'all's reactions have been amazing and I'm so beyond grateful for them and for all of y'all, my lovely readers. I have loved writing about Monty's journey and I'm very happy that y'all have enjoyed and resonated with it as much as I have. I have some other ideas I want to pursue, maybe even a few in this universe/au, so stick around! I love you all. And lastly, a humongous thank you to my best friend, my goddess, my beautiful beta reader @ABCV. One last thank you to all of you for reading. I love y'all.

**Author's Note:**

> Another long fic! This one should also only be about four parts. Thanks for reading! I hope you like it so far! Also, I realized I don't interact with my lovely readers enough so if y'all ever wanna chat or just see what I'm up to you can follow me on my tumblr @wafflehousepancakes where I just post about fandom stuff and random stuff


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